The Sorcerer of Rouen
by MastersofNight
Summary: A reclusive business man, Erik imports the new American Typewriter, complete with a female Editor. With the possible sabotage of the shipment, is someone thwarting him, is she in danger, and why are there two masks? Four years post ALW. Complete.
1. No Monsieur, Madame

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters based on Leroux or A. L. Webber. This is only my humble homage to their hard work.

_Who knows what true loneliness is - not the conventional word but the naked terror? To the _

_lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some _

_illusion. _

_Joseph Conrad_

**Chapter One: No Monsieur, Madame**

He waited in silence. The ticking of the mantel clock seeming to grow louder to him the longer he waited. Erik walked the length of his study again, passing the front windows. Noon had come and gone, yet the delivery he was expecting had not materialized. On the edge of exasperation, he paced before his desk, casting a glance at the documents he was working on. He clasped his hand behind his back, locking his grip.

"Cretans," he said to himself. "No doubt that once I am immersed in my work they will be banging on the door!" After another glance out the window, he sat down upon the bench of the grand piano that took up a larger portion of the room opposite his desk. Resting one elbow on the instrument and trilling the keys with his other hand, he began playing notes in time with the ticking of the clock until he lost himself in the music.

It had taken four years to come to this point in his life. Leaving the Opera Populaire after the fire, he had taken a canal boat back to Rouen, the city of his birth. The river people had known him as the 'scarred man' named Charles Martin while he worked the canal boats. He had built a reputation as a dependable conveyer of goods, both legal and questionable. While living under this guise, and using a third party, he had invested in the businesses and cargo speculators who kept the boats steadily employed.

While increasing his fortune, he hired Georges Dugast to run the company he created. He had purchased a total of three boats and hired crews to man them. The scarred man was seen less frequently and his newest persona that of a well to do gentleman and recluse named Monsieur De La Shaumette appeared in Rouen.

He now resided in a refurbished Norman home on the south bank of the river. He chose this house because of its location and its accessibility. An old habit, he preferred to keep a number of exits from which he could leave the house. He also appreciated that the two north facing windows in his second floor study gave him a clear view of the street below. From these he could monitor the movement of people and carriages past his home. He had converted the top floor to a large bedroom with access to and older servant's stair from which he could leave the house by the back alley. He also enclosed a large closeted area with a hidden access under the roof. Here he kept a number of clothing items and masks that he used to resurrect the scarred man when he needed to move about Rouen.

As he settled into his life and home, he hired a man and wife to be his servants. Etienne and Agnes Bardou were intelligent, quiet, and efficient. Following his implicit instruction and schedule, they cared for his home and his needs. Entering the house in mid-morning to begin the day, and leaving shortly after his dinner was served, they acted as his public face to the outside world, carrying out the mundane tasks required to run his home.

From below in the house came the smells of cooking, and the steady steps of Etienne. There was a soft knock on the door of the study. "Yes, enter." Erik answered.

Etienne carefully swung open the door and entered carrying a bucket of coal for the fireplace. "Dinner will be ready in 20 minutes, Monsieur. Would you care for a fire tonight?"

Although the early April days were warm, the evenings were still chill. Erik preferred the gas lights for illumination, but the fire for warmth. Since leaving the underground to rejoin the world above, the warmth of the fire in the hearth was a small luxury he reveled in.

"Yes, Etienne. I did not realize it was growing so late." He sat back on the bench and flexed his spine, then arose and walked to the window. "I am disappointed. Monsieur Dugast told me to expect the delivery of my new machine to be by noon." He glanced toward the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was nearly six o'clock.

"We have not received any messages this afternoon saying there were any changes in the delivery. Would you like me send a message to M. Dugast?"

Erik could not help but reminisce that this would not have happened if he had had control over this domain as he had exercised over the Opera Populaire. So many changes had taken place in his life, the necessity of re-entering the world of men. "No, Etienne. We shall leave it until tomorrow."

"Of course, here is the paper, Monsieur, and your letters." Etienne placed the items on a small side table next to an overstuffed chair that sat by the fireplace, and quietly left the room.

Erik adjusted the gas light next to the table and opened the previous day's issue of the Paris paper. He had been receiving it by post since he left Paris. Turning to page five, he went directly to the latest installment of the serialized novel that was entitled "The Mystery of the Opera Ghost". The story was in its fifteenth week, and was garnering a wide reader interest. The heroine was a dancer named Camille, who spurns the attentions of a manager who has now taken a murderous turn towards her real lover, Armand. The manager is hideously disfigured in a fire of his own making. Loosing his mind, he stalks Camille and Armand.

The author seemed to be creating a work of pure fantasy; what disturbed Erik was that the character with the masked face might indeed draw attention to him.

He had hoped time and distance would erase the trail back to that night in Paris. His life forever changed by the events that lead to the first performance of 'Don Juan Triumphant'. The bitter moment Christine had torn off his mask and wig in front of the audience. He heard the gasps and shrieks from all around him as he stood starring into her eyes, his mind trying to understand why this ultimate betrayal. He felt the stirring of the anger that followed. The passion he offered, now spurned, turned to a hard determination to force her to accept him. In his mind he remembered reaching out and cutting the rope that would release the chandelier. He cared little for whom it would destroy in its path.

He could see it all again, hear it, feel the desperation that filled him to the point of being crushed by emotions over which he was losing control. He dragged her cruelly down to his private hell, hot tears on his face as he confronted her. His perverse delight as he slipped the lasso around her lover's neck, drawing it tight and telling her to make her choice.

He could also feel once again upon his lips, the gentle first tentative kiss with Christine. He had dared to give her a deeper, more passionate kiss. As the kiss came to a close, so did the dream that she would be his. He had understood so much as he pulled away from her, that he had to hang his head in shame. His great 'love' was no more than a grasping attempt by a desperate man to force her to return the emotion. It was then he realized that the power of love was its ability to transform and to create. It was never meant to imprison the loved one.

She had turned back to him after he had told them to leave, and enfolded the ring in his hand. Was this what love really was? Not a submission, but a gentle giving of yourself to another? Could you pass your heart and soul to another through such a small intimacy? He felt her love, such as it was for her trusted teacher, her companion in darkness. But he also felt her slipping away, drawn by the safety and the warmth of the light.

He closed his eyes. He prayed time would not erase the memory, not the bitter or the beautiful. He held it close to his heart, for that was as close to love as he had come. He touched a finger to his lips, conjuring the feeling of her soft lips brushing his. He dropped his hand abruptly, for downstairs he heard a resounding knock at his front door.

At last, his new machine was here, the American made Remington Typewriter. There were only a few in all of Europe, and Georges Dugast had arranged for six of them to be brought to Rouen. Escorting the machines was to be an American trained, French speaking typist and editor, a Monsieur Emile Griggs. Erik had already contracted for this man's assistance with familiarizing him with the machine, for Erik and Georges Dugast were interested in becoming the French liaisons to the Remington Company.

Hearing Etienne opening the door, he put aside the paper and went to the window. A medium sized horse drawn van sat before his front door. A young man had walked to the back and dropped the gate, reaching in to pull out a large black box. As Erik began to turn away from the window, he saw a woman materialize from the far side of the van. She spoke to the young man and then stepped back as another man entered the view. This man Erik recognized as the regular driver for M. Dugast's deliveries. He stopped to talk to the woman, pointing towards the front door as they spoke.

Hearing Etienne moving toward the stair, Erik went to the gas light and turned it off so that the end of the room in which he stood was in deeper darkness. His back to the fireplace, he knew that anyone entering the study would see his shape, not his features, and therefore miss the mask he wore over his face.

He called for them to enter after he heard Etienne at the door. His servant preceded the young man who carried the box into the room. "Monsieur, your machine has arrived." He made a gesture toward the desk. "Shall we put it here?"

"Yes. That will be fine for now," Erik replied. He watched the young man maneuver the box onto the desk, Etienne hovering near him to speak to him so that the boy turned in his direction to respond rather than to look at Erik. Etienne gestured toward the door and they both moved toward the hall. Stopping short, he and the young man moved aside and into the room stepped the woman.

She walked over to the desk and placed an envelope on its surface next to the machine. She then turned towards Etienne and waited, as he ushered out the delivery man, then turned to face Erik. She stood very still, almost expectantly, and waited, eyes calmly looking at him across the room. In the early evening light Erik took in her small hat, sensible bag, and the plain but business-like dress she wore. Her hair was upswept, but in several places it appeared to be trying to escape from its pins.

As the man before the fireplace made no attempt at introductions, Emily waited quietly for the servant to return. No doubt this was M. De La Shaumette. From his rigid posture and the late hour of the day, Emily had no doubt that her introduction was not going to be received with warm welcome.

Etienne reentered the study and stopped short turning to Erik. "This is Madame Griggs." He turned to Emily and announced, "Madame, this is Monsieur De La Shaumette."

He waited a moment glancing from her to his employer and back to her again. Deciding that discretion was his best choice, he backed out of the room and quietly closed the door.

"Madame," Erik said, taking command, "I take it you have an explanation from M. Dugast as to why my machine had not arrived at its appointed time."

The polite tone was laced with something darker. Emily pictured silk sliding across a sharp blade of steel. A person less experienced in dealing with business men might have overlooked it. Emily had learned from experience that she needed to appear calm, but turn the conversation to her advantage.

"First, I must apologize for any inconvenience our late arrival must have caused you," she began. "I am also sorry for this intrusion into your privacy. But M. Dugast and I thought it best to get your machine delivered tonight."

Surrounded as he was by the glow from the fireplace, she noticed a slight turn of his head. Was this curiosity? The voice once again, laced with displeasure. "And why, Madame, are you here?"

"I am Emily Griggs," she replied. "I am the Remington representative."

He sighed, closing his eyes, holding on to his temper. He pictured some overworked young office assistant hastily scribbling the name down incorrectly. The obvious simplicity of a spelling mistake had led them to believe that the person arriving would be a man. As his luck would have it, instead fate had sent him a female. With the exception of his servant Agnes, Erik did not interact with women. It was easier for him to insulate himself from them. Why should a man that starves, care to stand before a banquet?

Emily gave him a moment, as this was not the first time her appearance had been a surprise. M. Dugast had tried to dissuade her from coming. He said that Monsieur's temper was infamous, and that he was a recluse of sorts. He also warned her that the man she faced was reputed to wear a mask. Undoubtedly this man was not comfortable with dealing with people.

"Monsieur," she began, "the Scottish have an old saying; 'May you lead an interesting life.' I have had about as much of an interesting day as could possibly be imagined." She walked past the desk towards the piano and stopped. "We had a problem with the canal boat, and to summarize the events, we did get the typewriters to safety, but you and your partner are now short one boat." She gestured back to the desk indicating the papers she had put down. "This is what information M. Dugast could give me about the total inventory on the boat that was either lost or has some water damage."

Erik saw that her hand was shaking. Had she gotten close enough to see the mask? She seemed to notice as well and clasped her hands together. "Sorry, Monsieur, but I have had an exhausting day with little food and far too much excitement. I will bid you good evening, as I need to find a hotel. I will send to you where I can be reached, and make arrangements to get you started with the typewriter at your convenience."

"Madame," he began slowly, "when I engaged this contract, I did not expect an assistant. I do not require your services. I am confident that I can handle the machine on my own."

"Of course, Monsieur," she replied. Erik caught the condescending tone of her reply, and felt his teeth grind. How dare she?

Emily indicated the typewriter. "You will need to remove it from its case. Just underneath the front row of keys you will find two locking screws at either end. These will come out and release a bar that locks the machine for shipping. Please note any damage to it or its case and relay that information to me." Emily started for the door; obviously she was not welcomed here. She knew she shouldn't be surprised by the dismissal in his tone. Some of the male clients always thought a woman was an empty headed bit of fluff. It still made her angry, but she had learned to hide it well. One could be so polite in response as long as Remington was paying a fabulous salary.

Rather than be relieved she was leaving, Erik felt a last stab or annoyance. Females were renowned for trying to get the last word. She obviously felt he would have to resort to her knowledge to be able to handle the new machine. He couldn't resist one last opportunity to emphasize that she was not welcome in his home. "Did not M. Dugast explain my situation?"

Emily paused at the door. Like a lion in his den, his voice was like a low threatening purr, it raised the hair on the back of her neck.

She opened the door letting in the light from the hallway. "He did try to dissuade me from meeting you in person." She felt a wicked grin start to light her face. "As you know, I am an American. I told him if you gave me any trouble," she paused and waved a hand, "I'd just have to shoot you." With that she walked out and shut the door.


	2. Staccato

_Her loveliness I never knew_

_Until she smiled on me. --Hartley Coleridge _

**Chapter Two: Staccato**

Emily closed the door and exhaled slowly. "Well, I guess that went well considering how my day has transpired."

Etienne stood across the hall with an expectant look on his face. He smiled at the young woman, she did look tired. "If Madame will follow me, we can arrange for lodgings and have your luggage dropped off. Would you would care for a hot cup of tea?"

Erik stared at the door. He wondered if this was some perverse American version of a sense of humor she had. Was she making a joke out of this? Both of these thoughts vexed him. He strode toward the door and heard Etienne offering her a cup of tea. What the hell was going on in _HIS_ home? Jerking open the door, he stopped short of the threshold.

Emily was tired enough she did not flinch as the door was wrenched open. She calmly turned her head toward the man in the doorway. The illumination from the hall fell onto him from the shoulders down, revealing a dark velvet jacket of a casual style over a white shirt. He was at least a head taller than she. She felt his eyes looking down at her, and looked up. The right side of his face was covered from the hairline to his lips by a light material that appeared to follow the contours of his face. His eyes were indiscernible except for two glittering pinpoints that reflected the hall light. His lips were set in an almost elegant expression of anger.

Still looking at M. De La Shaumette, Emily smiled gently. "Tea would be wonderful." She dropped her gaze, lifted the hem of her dress and made her way down the stairs.

Erik heard Etienne's voice, saying something about his dinner. He must have responded because he did hear the retreating footsteps. He could not move. He closed his eyes. Standing on the threshold, he detected a fragrance that must have been her perfume. He could hear them downstairs, Etienne had steered her towards the parlor, and she protested her dress was dirty, that it had been wet. She asked if it was not better to sit on a kitchen chair. Erik closed the door. He turned back into the room, making his way to his chair. He sat in darkness, in the warmth of the fireplace, and contemplated what to do with a woman.

Etienne helped Emily secure a room for the night. The delivery man had dropped off the trunks to the Hotel Fordais. The hotel owner had been waiting to receive her, and had arranged a dinner to be waiting for her at a Café de Jardins on the corner of the street.

Emily ate a bowl of soup accompanied by fresh crusty rolls, had a final cup of tea and went back to her hotel. The gentleman at the desk assured her that one of her trunks that had been in the river would be taken to a service tomorrow to clean the clothing inside, and that there was still water available if Madame cared to have a bath. Emily thanked him, and retired to her room.

Turning up the gas lamp on the wall, she saw an envelope lying on the small dresser. It was from M. Dugast.

_ M. De La Shaumette has informed me of your hotel_

_arrangements. He is to cover all the charges for your_

_stay here in Rouen. Come by the office tomorrow at_

_2 p.m., and we can discuss the insurance forms_

_and work out your scheduled meetings with your clients._

_I am most curious to know how your meeting with_

_DLS went._

So would I, thought Emily. She sank into an exhausted sleep, dreaming of water and darkness and a pair of glittering eyes.

* * *

At 1:30 p.m., Emily arrived by cab at the office for her appointment with Georges Dugast. She waited a short time and was ushered in by a young man who introduced himself as M. Dugast's assistant. 

"Madame, I am so pleased to see you again." Georges Dugast was probably around sixty. He wore a dark suite of a simple cut that complimented his extreme height. His shoulders were slightly stooped, no doubt from leaning down towards people as he spoke. His voice was deep but soft.

"Thank you, Monsieur."

Leaning forward over his desk, M. Dugast smiled, "I must commend you upon your excellent handling of M. De La Shaumette! Believe me, young lady, he is formidable when challenged, and absolutely ruthless to people who do not follow through with his instructions." He grinned, and Emily caught the ghost of what he must have looked like as a young man. "You know, I would have given anything to have been there when you met him!"

Emily couldn't help but smile. "Surely Monsieur can not be that hard to deal with?"

Georges Dugast burst out in a raspy laugh. "My dear, my fellows in the business community are already referring to it as 'Beauty and the Beast'! Some of them, I don't mind telling you would have loved it if you had shot him!"

Emily could not help but laugh as well. "I think he was a little stunned to be any more than curt with me."

"No, believe me, Monsieur is never caught unawares. He is a shrewd man, a capable man, and a master of the situations around him. Like a puppeteer, he pulls the strings. Like a magician he directs the attention elsewhere. I have only met him through messages sent to this office, and talking to his assistants."

Emily found this interesting. "Is this how he conducts all his business?"

"He has a number of people like me that actually run the offices and businesses he has in his possession. He has two personal assistants who do the 'leg work' as we refer to it, delivering contracts, conducting meetings, and such for him. They are the only two people who are allowed to his home. So you can see why we are all curious as to your impressions of him. "

Emily described the meeting, her impressions of the house, and how pleasant his servants had been to her. "As for Monsieur himself," she paused and spread her hands, "I did not see that much of him. Since he covers his face, I would think he is not comfortable with dealing with people personally."

"Thank you for the information, Madame," he replied.

Emily spent another hour with him, running down what times he had already arranged for her to meet personally with her other five clients. Of these, Hugette Pinson wrote a society column for Rouen's morning paper, Eustache Vaudry was a machinist, Françoise Desloges was an aspiring novelist, Denis Chalin was a lawyer and Vincente Juin was a doctor who was currently away in Switzerland for two weeks.

"That leaves Monsieur De La Shaumette and his assistants," Georges said. "He will no doubt send you one of his infamous notes when he needs you. If possible you might just plan on having an occasional block of time open for him."

At this point Emily brought up Monsieur's comments about not requiring help from her. George Dugast sat back and considered what she had said for a moment. "As I have said before, he is never at a loss to turn an opportunity into something profitable," he said. "If he had decided he could not work with you and Remington, then you would have tickets to America in your hand right now. Such as it is, he has sent to me that he will cover all of your expenses. I would tell you that as long as he seems interested in keeping you here that he is probably planning to go ahead and work with you to secure a contract with Remington for more typewriters."

George Dugast had closed the meeting and was escorting Emily to his front office when his assistant appeared bearing a note. It was addressed to Madame Griggs and bore a black wax seal on the back with the initials DLS. Opening it Emily read:

_ My Dear Madame Griggs,_

_Upon inspection of my typewriter it has come to my attention_

_that my assistant that has attempted to use the machine met_

_with limited success, as the device that swings the small_

_printing hammers into place jams on a regular basis._

_I would appreciate what information you could relay by return_

_message to me at your earliest convenience._

_DLS_

The young man stood by as if he was expected to return with the answer. That hardly surprised Emily, as it seemed everyone she dealt with seemed to be eager to please M. De La Shaumette. She took a piece of paper and pen the young man offered. She paused for a moment, and writing one word, she added her initials and gave it to the assistant.

* * *

Etienne brought the note to Erik as soon as it arrived. Opening the note Erik saw it had one word written on it. _Staccato_. She had used the musical term meaning separate, as in sounding the notes in short detached strokes. No doubt she had remembered the grand piano in his study and assumed that he was familiar with musical terms. He was pleased by her succinct answer and the foresight she displayed in solving his problem.

Later in the afternoon when his assistant Phillipe Robillard came back at the end of the day, Erik was ready to show the young man how to use the machine. While Phillipe still typed with only two fingers, he used the short quick finger strokes that kept the type bar from jamming.

* * *

Phillipe was relieved that he was making progress. It added to his confidence that Monsieur De La Shaumette was pleased with his work. After dinner, as he and his sister cleared away the evening dishes, he told her about his day.

Sophie listened to her brother whenever he talked about his work. She enjoyed hearing about the mysterious M. De La Shaumette. She sometimes wondered how her brother could stand the pressure of being under this man's scrutiny. Phillipe made him sound so masterful, Sophie wondered if his proximity to her brother would in turn give him the confidence that he needed to be as successful. Granted, Phillipe was almost twenty-three, while his employer seemed to be around forty.

Phillipe had told Sophie about the late delivery by Emily Griggs. "Oh my, I so wish I could have been there when she arrived," Sophie breathed. "Can you imagine how that woman felt?"

"From my experiences, yes a little," Phillipe replied. "I know they weren't heard arguing, and she certainly didn't flee from the house. She actually was in his study. And now he has sent her a note, and she returned one to him."

"Phillipe, what about Monsieur Griggs? Is not her husband with her?"

"No. It has come to us that Madame is divorced and travels alone."

"Madame must indeed be a formidable woman to travel from America alone. What does M. De La Shaumette think about this? For all true intents, Madame is actually an unmarried woman. Do you think he will be able to deal with her?"

"I couldn't even begin to speculate on that. Monsieur never mentions a wife, or women in his life. As far as I know he doesn't even speak about his mother. I know for certain that are no pictures of family in his house. Other than Agnes Bardou, I don't know if he even sees a woman."

"You know," Sophie began, "maybe we should get to know this Madame Griggs."

"Do you think so?"

"Well, it certainly couldn't be bad for her! She came to Rouen on business, and knows no one! The Monsieur may be paying for everything, but he certainly isn't entertaining her. Wouldn't it be nice for her to at least have someone to talk with, and perhaps see sights around the town with?"

"Sophie, are you volunteering to be a tourist guide now?"

"Aren't you the least bit curious about her? As I said, she has no one who is helping her to enjoy her stay in France! What poor hosts we are all being!"

"All right, what do you suggest we do?"

"You need to meet with her, and arrange a dinner here. We can get Mama out of the house for the evening, and that will give us a chance to get acquainted with her. Then perhaps, she and I could see some of the city."

"I don't know, Sophie. Perhaps Monsieur would not like it."

"Well, you could tell him you are doing it for your curious sister," Sophie said tossing the dishtowel at his head. "Besides, women need the company of other women sometimes."

Phillipe did agree that it seemed a logical reason. How could Monsieur find fault with that?

* * *

Emily returned to the Hotel. Although she was comfortable there, she longed for arrangements that would be more permanent. She had left America over two months ago, voyaging across the Atlantic, stopping for a while in England to meet with the Remington representatives there, and then on to France.

Emily liked nothing better than being able to put on her loose robe, take down her hair, kick off her shoes and have a cup of tea when she was in the mood. She also would like to not have to schedule her use of the bath facilities around the other guests on her floor.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon putting away the clothes that had come back from the cleaning service. Luckily it had not been the trunk with most of her everyday clothes. This trunk contained a new evening gown, a heavy coat, 2 shawls, and what she considered her "American Wild West" outfit. People always wanted pictures of her dressed in pants, shirt, boots, her full length duster style coat and her Remington Rifle and shotgun.

The Remington Company began with manufacturing guns, later added sewing machines, and were now moving into typewriters. When she put in to be considered for this job, Remington was delighted that she was willing to be photographed. Emily knew her product, her job, and how to take care of her clients. Going to parties and social events, she projected the best image she could for Remington. Their success was tied to her, and likewise her chance of staying in France hinged on how well she did her job for Remington.

Emily kept thinking that most of what was going to happen to her was going to depend on M. De La Shaumette. He had an interesting voice; smooth sometimes, rough at others. From the way he spoke she knew he expected to be obeyed. She did so wish he had said something else when he had opened the study door. He seemed to fill the doorway with a presence, a kind of aura of energy. She wondered if a life spent living behind a mask had taught him to contain his thoughts, his passions, the essences that others would have projected out in an effort to communicate with others. Most of all she wondered if she would ever see the man again.

She went to the café for a late dinner and took a book with her. For a while she sat and surreptitiously watched the other people around her. She was a student of human nature; people's clothes, expressions, how they interacted with others around them had taught Emily a lot about how to approach other people. The proprietor told her that as long as she was not taking up a table that was needed, she could stay there as long as she liked. Her reading was interrupted by a young man. "Madame Griggs," he asked politely.

"Yes, I am Madame Griggs."

"My name is Phillipe Robillard. I am an assistant to M. De La Shaumette. May I join you?" Phillippe was tall with auburn hair and the most interesting eyes Emily had seen in a long time. While they looked brown in dim lighting, they flashed an astounding amber color under full light.

"Of course Monsieur, I was just having a final cup of tea. Will you have something?"

"No Madame. I am on my way home for the evening. I had stopped by to introduce myself, and to ask if you would care to join my sister and me for dinner one evening."

Emily was pleasantly surprised. "That would be lovely, Phillipe. Not that the food here is lacking in any respect, but it would be nice to spend some time in someone's home."

Phillipe was happy that she seemed receptive to the idea. "My sister Sophie will be delighted that you have accepted. She feels that we are all being poor hosts, leaving you to wander Rouen with no one to assist you. We could arrange for dinner tomorrow evening if you are available."

"Thank you, Phillipe, I look forward to meeting you sister. How will I find your home?"

"I will come by at six o'clock and we can take a cab there. If I am late, do not worry, Monsieur usually has his dinner around that time and dismisses us, you should not have to wait for long."

They bid each other good evening, and for once Emily went to her room hopeful that this was a good sign. She looked forward to having a friendly evening with people who were not clients or hotel staff.


	3. Toy Maker

_It was the mask engaged your mind,_

_And after set your heart to beat,_

_Not what's behind._

_William Butler Yeats_

**Chapter Three: Toy Maker**

When Phillipe was going over his schedule for the day with M. De La Shaumette, he noticed that it left him leaving a little earlier than usual. "I can take care of the bank draft to M. Dugast as well before I am done. I was going to stop by and order some fish at the market anyway."

Erik was pleased that Phillipe was taking the initiative to get some of the tasks out of the way personally. "Very good, Phillipe." He opened a ledger and handed the draft to Phillipe.

"Yes Monsieur. My sister and I have invited Madame Griggs to dinner."

Erik did not look up from his desk, but Phillippe could hear the change in his voice. "You have met Madame Griggs?"

"My sister is concerned that we have left her to languish in a hotel with no acquaintances in the city." Phillipe felt his employer's attention on him become more focused. "Especially female acquaintances, sir, you know, shopping, and things of that nature." Phillipe let the sentence wind down. He didn't want to babble but his employer was now looking at him.

Erik thought about the implications of Emily Griggs going out around the city. He had seen to it that he knew where to find her, and be able to trace her activities. Perhaps he was deliberating too long on what exactly he was going to do with Madame Griggs.

His prevailing instinct told him to be very careful with her. She could be an asset or a liability. If Madame started spending more time around the Robillards, Erik would be able to watch her when she was conducting what ever it was women did in their free time.

"Phillipe, I think your sister is right. Madame should have someone to accompany her." Erik noted how his employee relaxed. He called for Etienne to join them in the study. "Etienne will contact the market and have your order paid for and delivered to your address."

"Thank you, Monsieur," Phillippe said surprised at his employer's generosity.

"Think nothing of it. You must let me know how your dinner goes, and give your sister my complements."

After he had dismissed Phillipe, Erik found that he was still distracted by this turn of events. He could easily let Dugast take care of meeting with her. Since her arrival, he had been aware of his thoughts turning more towards her. Even when his deepest darkest voice had warned him, not to hope, not to care, not to be intrigued with this woman, he would remember her slight smile.

He saw her standing in the hall again. Closer to her, he saw that her eyes were a dark blue, that her hair was a color not unlike his own under his wig, that she had looked so small. She had to look up to see his face. Her eyes swept over the mask, he could feel it as surely as if her hand had touched him. Her eyes came to rest on his. She had not been startled or afraid. There was no hint of repulsion, or that damned inquisitiveness that people displayed, as if they were prying the mask off with their fingers, searching for the dark and disgusting. He felt no fear, yes fear that she could see inside of him and look at the bleak and dark soul he harbored. What had Christine called it, the true distortion in him?

Four years of his life spent turning that disillusioned creature hiding in the darkness into this man. He had been transformed by his passion and his need for a woman. He had wanted only what any other man could have; the love of a woman, a wife and companion, perhaps a family.

He had left his grotto, his throne of music, and made his way to the river. The canal boats offered a way to quickly leave Paris behind. He remembered drifting from one place to another, disguised by a dark cloth that partially covered his abnormality, and covered one eye. He hated the lack of the eye, but it fit his story of being in an accident that destroyed his face. In despair he wanted to numb his pain, but shied from Opium or liquor. He needed to be in control, not to loose himself in a drugged haze.

It was in a meeting with a Chinese merchant that was selling Opium along the waterfront, that his life had once again changed. He had gone to the merchant to pick up a shipment of the drug to smuggle to Holland. While Eric watched the cargo being loaded, the old man had handed him a book. It was a volume of Chinese poetry translated into French. Erik took the book; something inside him told him it was important. Many of the poems spoke eloquently of life and happiness. How true peace was achieved not from the outside, but from within one's self.

Erik began to find those moments of happiness. He crafted his destiny with the passion and precision he had brought to his music. One step building upon the next, he climbed out of the prison of fear and into a home where he could display his accomplishments and be proud of what he was. He had pushed away the darkness that had repulsed Christine. He sometimes wished he could show her his life now. What would she think of this man he had become?

He had taken his strengths and used them to their best advantage. After years of manipulating and terrorizing people into doing his will, he found that people responded willingly when they saw a chance to better themselves. He learned to refine his abilities into weapons in an arena where careful and informed speculation could bring him power. He had refused to succumb to fear, leaving behind the boy in the cage who had been beaten and laughed at. He had embraced his solitude, limiting the number of people he had direct contact with.

The one thing he could not change was his twisted face. He still felt a helpless loathing of his reflection, of how it still carried sway over his life. He had crafted a letter that was to be opened upon his death requesting that he be buried with the mask on, so that he could show God the man he should have been.

After dismissing Phillipe, he decided to write a note. It seemed the most logical step in dealing with Emily Griggs. They would have their first meeting about the typewriters.

Emily spent a very enjoyable afternoon with the first of her new clients, Hugette Pinson who had sent her own coach and driver to pick up Emily at the hotel. Arriving at Hugette's' grand home, Emily was amazed by the large front drive, sweeping lawn and the impressive house.

Emily was ushered into the house by the butler, and met Hugette and her sister Therese. Both women were probably in their late forties, but possessed a radiant porcelain skin that almost glowed. While Hugette had hair almost white in color, Therese sported dark red; they both had very light sky blue eyes. They had tea and small canapés in Hugette's study, while Emily recounted the story of her disastrous arrival in Rouen and the sinking typewriters. Emily enquired into the reason behind why the woman had purchased the typewriter.

"It's all that writing I do for the Rouen Morning Paper, you know," Hugette told her. "I do make notes during the day and at events, but then I must dash off my column and get it to the press before they print up the next day's paper. And, well, sometimes I just find that I am so pressed for time that details get left out. You know," she started in a conspiratorial voice," some of the people are most upset when I attend their parties, and then don't have the time to write about them. They feel slighted that they have put on such a production, and have not made the paper, especially if it is for a coming out ball."

"What is a 'coming out' Madame? I am not familiar with that term."

"Oh, perhaps I am not using a term that translates well. You see when a young woman reaches her age of availability for marriage, her family will put on a ball and invite some of the more prominent families to attend. It is meant to introduce the young lady into a proper society, as well as show her off to her best advantage to possible suitors."

Emily felt a little embarrassed. "Madame, where I come from, we don't have such grand society to worry about. In fact most of our dances are held in someone's barn. The town I come from has only about six hundred people in it. Most of us are either related already, or have grown up knowing every one who is marriageable or not!"

"Emily," Therese exclaimed, "that is just so charming. You are not from a city; you sound more like one of our village girls. Oh my dear, Rouen must be so exciting for you."

"Yes, I hope to go see some of the town on the weekend. I have been very busy setting up my first meetings, but I had hoped to do a little shopping on my days off."

"Oh you dear girl, you are indeed on quite an adventure are you not?" Hugette laughed. "This is just so rich a story; you will have to keep us updated when you come for your visits. You see, everyone is very interested in the mysterious M. De La Shaumette. We have all heard that he is a recluse and that the face is well," Hugette hesitated and hushed her voice, "has been damaged or diseased or something. Poor man, that wouldn't matter a bit to anyone as long as he was civil and a gentleman."

"From what I understand he is not very civil though," Therese added in a sorrowful voice. "High temper in a man can be very frightening to a woman, you know. One never knows when a man just might let his passions run away with him, and _voila_! You have a disaster on your hands. And all that yelling, men can be so loud you know."

The sisters sat and shook their heads sadly. Then Therese looked slyly at Hugette. "Of course there is the making up stage after that." Both of the women giggled and Therese actually started to fan her face which was covered with a very becoming blush. "La! You know after we fight my husband does buy me such exquisite jewelry to apologize."

Emily laughed as well. "Sorry to disappoint you ladies, but Monsieur I think was more stunned than anything else at the turn of events." She explained the 'Monsieur Emile' that the men had been expecting, which started another round of laughter.

"Well then, Emily, we shall once again be relying on good fortune to keep you with us. "

Hugette set up another visit with Emily, for she wanted to feature her in a story for the paper. As the young woman left, Hugette and Therese were already planning how to make sure that Emily would meet the right people in Rouen to keep her gainfully employed.

Phillipe and Emily arrived early at the Robillard home, but Sophie was prepared to offer drinks and an enthusiastic welcome to the American woman. Like Phillipe, Sophie was a brunette with lovely eyes, high cheekbones and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. She was tall and slender, with elegant hands and a sultry voice.

Phillippe served a glass of Kir, a drink made of dry Burgundy white wine and blackcurrant liquor, while Sophie set out a dish of vegetables and dips. They followed this with an entrée of Onion soup au gratin, and a main course of a terrine of Salmon and Spinach served over rice that had bits of bacon and peas. For dessert Sophie served an apricot pudding. They ate slowly and talked continually, laughing about the stories Emily told of learning French and the misunderstandings she had gotten into over her mistakes. She was lucky that her brother had married a French Canadian woman, who had done most of her tutoring.

"Well, your French is quite good," Sophie said. "We must arrange some time to get together and I can show you some of the more interesting sites in town. You know the out of the way places that people don't go usually."

"Yes, like the dress shop and the hat shop and the chocolatier shop," Phillippe added. They all laughed.

"Thank you, Sophie. That would be wonderful. I was hoping to find some things to send back to my family as well," Emily added.

While they cleared away dishes, Phillipe answered a knock at their door. He returned bearing a note. After reading it he handed it to Emily saying, "We are going to spend some more time together it appears." Emily took the note and saw that Monsieur was asking for her to join Phillipe and his other assistant Javier at his home the next afternoon at 2 o'clock.

"Oh, Emily," Sophie gasped. "You are going to see Monsieur again; you must tell me what he is like."

Phillipe looked at his sister. "I've told you about him!"

"No, Phillipe, not like things that women notice!"

"Like what?" he asked.

Emily and Sophie looked at each other and grinned. "I understand," Emily said.

Returning to her room at the hotel, Emily was struck by the thought that Monsieur had some way of knowing her schedule. Undoubtedly he could learn from the hotel staff of her comings and goings, but how would he know what points in her days were not scheduled?

Erik had sat after dinner typing at his desk until he realized it was nearly midnight. At that point he decided it was time to go out. Night time was the part of the day that Erik felt the freest as well as the most restless.

Entering his bedroom, he opened one of the drawers in his dresser, pulling it out far enough to reach under it and detach a coil of catgut he carried for a lasso. Tossing it on the bed and pulling out more drawers, he added two knives. He crossed to the wardrobe, swung it out on a nearly undetectable hinge and reached beside it to unlatch a small door that went behind the wall of the room. Here is where he stored clothing and had access to the old servants' stairs.

He retrieved his dingy shirt, scuffed boots, and threadbare coat. Changing into these he switched from his white leather mask and wig to the black mask he wore as Charles Martin, the scarred man. More like an oversized eye patch, it left part of his face uncovered. He had thought of using stage make-up to cover some of his face, but leaving the skin exposed revealed the darker red shade of his skin that resembled the healing left after a burn. It lent credence to his tale that his face had been disfigured in an accident. Indeed, many a man along the waterfront sported scars, missing fingers, eyes, or even feet.

After dressing, he slid one knife in his boot top, one against his back in the top of his belt, and fed the lasso down his right sleeve where it could be easily dropped into his hand. Checking his image in the mirror, he left quietly by the servant stairs, easing his way down the darkened alleys that wound between the houses.

Reaching the river, he took a moment to look up and down the streets. A small bar was closing at the opposite end of the road, and outside one of the local prostitutes was dragging away a drunken patron. He waited until they turned the corner, and then made his way down the dock to a canal boat.

After Erik had purchased the boat, he had had the name on the stern changed to _Erebus_. Named for the son of Chaos from Greek myth, Erebus was one of the infernal regions below the earth. A fitting name he felt for the world he was to reside after leaving Paris, until he had the power and finances to move on. He pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door. Closing it behind him, he struck a match and lit a small lamp on the table across form the door.

Although the lower hold was used for cargo transport, the upper deck was used to store an assortment of tools and small machines that Erik used. He found that besides his music, he enjoyed coming here to work. He had started with carvings, and found a shop owner who would sell them. Later the man had asked if he could make toys. After doing some late night entry into shops on the other side of the river, he picked up ideas for toys and began making them. He enjoyed making things that moved; animals that did little tricks, or locomotives with wheels that turned.

He would often loose himself for hours fashioning the intricate pieces and fitting them together. It was relaxing and gave him a secure place to go to other than his home. At one point he had wondered at why he liked this activity. He had decided it was a glimpse at a childhood he had never enjoyed. His only toy had been a monkey he had fashioned from rags and straw.

He worked for a time on a music box until his eyes began to get tired. He put his work away, and slipped out of the boat locking it behind him. Making his way back through the alleys he arrived at his home as the first glow of dawn began to paint the houses around him. He put away his clothes and weapons, making sure he had not tracked in anything that Agnes might find later. Lying down on his bed, he closed his eyes.


	4. Sabotage

_It's a terrible thing to be alone – yes it is- it is- but don't lower your mask until you have another mask prepared beneath – as terrible as you like – but a mask._

_Katherine Mansfield_

**Chapter Four: Sabotage**

Emily spent the next morning preparing for her meeting. Since the weather was warmer she could get away without having to wear a hat in the middle of the day. She decided on wearing her hair down, swept back with a ribbon and a skirt and blouse whose simplicity would be flattering as well as comfortable. Looking at herself in the mirror, she added a pair of small earrings and necklace whose small sapphires would complement her eyes. Stepping back she wondered if this look might be a little too intimate. She did not want to send any messages to the gentlemen that might be construed as an untoward effort at being forward.

First she pinned her hair up, and then took it down. She tried on another dress, but found the tiny printed flowers looked even more girlish, and switched to a business dress. The dress coloring was too somber, and she would have to forgo any make up except for lipstick, and the hair would have to go back up. After a number of attempts, she was back to her original outfit. She looked at the mirror, and thought that if Monsieur De La Shaumette found fault with her attire, he would undoubtedly let her know. With an audible sigh, she picked up her satchel, her door key and left for her appointment.

After waking Erik lit the boiler in the kitchen for hot bath water, and selected his clothes for the day. He looked at his reflection in the bath mirror, and decided that the dark hollows under his eyes meant he should have gotten more sleep. After he was bathed and dressed he made his way downstairs to the kitchen to get a hot cup of tea. There was a short knock at the front door and saw his other personal assistant Javier unlocked the door and enter. "You were out last night?" Javier asked.

"Yes," Erik replied. "I didn't feel like sleeping."

Javier had joined Erik almost a year ago. Erik had worked along the river with Javier. In a life spent watching the activities of others, Erik felt he had a good grasp of the young man's abilities and sense of loyalty. He chose to help him, and had in fact taken him on as an assistant and had put work in the direction of Javier's father as well.

Similarly, Phillipe had come to him by way of working as an accountant whose firm was trying to extort more money for the architect who had removed the two windows and partial front wall of the study to allow for the grand piano to be hoisted into place. Erik showed Phillippe the drawings and measurements that he had given the architect, who had only paid the laborers, and not done the design work himself. Phillipe then reported back to his firm and they closed out the appeal by the architect. At the close of the affair, Erik sent a message to Phillippe and persuaded him to take a job in his employ.

While Phillipe's abilities lay in his business acumen, Javier's talent was his knowledge of the river, the boats, and deals made in back rooms. Javier had also become more of a confidant to Erik; similar experiences along the waterfront, and the fact that neither was a stranger to violence had cemented their relationship. Javier knew him as Charles Martin the scar faced man as well as Erik De La Shaumette.

"What were you able to find out," Erik asked.

"We managed to raise the boat. It's going to cost you. I went through it taking Dugast's list with me. All of the cargo is there including another typewriter, which I dropped off to Eustache Vaudry." Javier paused and went to the pantry, taking out bread and jam; he moved to the stove and started the bread to toast. "It did have some damage in the lower cargo deck, some loose boards. It might have been done shifting cargo, or done by someone with the right tools."

The kettle was steaming now, vapor pouring from its spout. Javier watched Erik go through the mundane action of filling two cups, and replacing the kettle on the stove, filling the tea holder with the loose leaves of tea. Erik's quiet concentration on his task only served to occupy his hands, while his mind worked on the problem of the boat.

Under Erik's terms if the boat was not moving cargo, the men would not be earning a wage. "I want you to tell them I'll take care of their wages for a few days until the boat gets running again." Erik paused to accept a piece of toast that Javier had made, "They can earn it by finding out if any one saw someone near the boat." He took a sip of his tea and turned towards the stairs, "One of my competitors maybe trying to prevent me from getting any more machines imported."

As he climbed the stairs to his study, Erik had another thought come to mind. Whoever did this would know that at a certain point after the boat started taking on water, it would be heavy enough to go down quickly. It meant that anyone on board might have gone below decks to investigate and gotten trapped inside. A cold feeling began to fill him; anyone could be trapped, including Emily.

As he reached his desk, he sat down heavily and stared at his typewriter. It was bad enough to sabotage his boat and jeopardize his workers, but the thought of Emily trapped and helpless made his veins fill with needles of ice. He was surprised at how possessive towards her he felt. The logical part of him said it was only because he watched over every one of his possessions, another part of him said that it was because he hated the thought that he would never have met her, never seen her smile.

Javier ate the last of his toast and watched Erik, sitting to his right side so he could only see the masked side of his face. The intensity in the eye, the living part showing through the façade he wore was sometimes an eerie thing to behold. He only hoped his own life did not take such a turn that the fires inside him would burn so terribly. He wondered if the energy this man used to live out his daily life would eventually fail him; consumed by too many years of struggling to hold on to this world. The eye finally rolled towards him.

"I have invited Madame Griggs to join us this afternoon. I want you here as well as Phillipe; I want to hear your impressions of her. Ask her anything you like." Erik paused to drink his tea. "Dugast and I have to go through her to deal with Remington."

They went on talking about business, but Javier was already wondering about Madame Griggs. As far back as he could recall Erik had stayed away from women. He had on occasion dealt with a couple of the dockside whores and some shop girls, but only as far as information, never the use of their bodies. The man was either amazingly discreet with the fairer sex, or had an iron will to avoid them.

Emily arrived at 1:30, and was ushered into the parlor by Etienne. She always tried to be a bit early to her appointments, that way if something happened to forestall her, at the least she might be able to make it at the appointed time.

One thing that Emily excelled at was having the patience to wait. She used this time others considered boring to collect her thoughts, plan her approach to her client, and peruse the details of her environment to get a feel for the person. During her short previous visit, she had been tired, frustrated and had not got any impressions about her employer other than he was not pleased.

Looking around the parlor Emily noticed that all of the furniture pieces were stylish and new. She felt this was unusual since most people boasted of some piece that had been passed down from a grandparent. Also there were no 'frills'; no dollies or vases, family pictures or curios, knick knacks or accent pillows. Monsieur definitely did not have a wife, or live in female relative. She remembered a small vase in the kitchen window; it must have been put there by Agnes. She wondered if their employer visited his kitchen very often.

She only waited about an additional 10 minutes before Etienne returned to take her up to the study. As they arrived upstairs, the study door was opened by an attractive young man who's dark and exotic good looks fit perfectly with his Spanish name. A little shorter than Phillipe, this man was more muscular.

"Madame, I am Javier Isandro Galván Fernández, and I am so glad to meet you at last." Javier had a wonderful deep voice, open smile, and slightly devilish gleam to his eye. As he bent over her hand and kissed it gently, a stray lock of hair fell forward on his forehead. Emily pictured him as the perfect choice for a role as Romeo. He radiated charm that no doubt could turn the head of any woman from the cradle to the grave, and he new exactly how to use it.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Javier," she replied.

Stepping into the room she saw once again the grand piano to her right with the fireplace and chair. Directly to her right was a small sofa that faced the fireplace. To her left was the large desk and lining the walls behind it were bookshelves. Getting up from a chair next to the desk was Phillipe, who arose and smiled, nodding at her.

Behind the desk stood Monsieur De La Shaumette. "Madame," he said bowing his head slightly. Seeing him in the light she saw that his hair was dark and combed back from his face, it was long enough to brush his collar. He wore a dark suit of a simple cut. Although she noticed the mask, she maintained eye contact with him and smiled, "Good afternoon Monsieur." His eyes seemed to be a light color, perhaps grey or green.

Javier moved a chair over in front of the desk. "Please Madame, have a seat."

"Thank you, Javier. Please call me Emily. 'Madame' always sounds like people are talking to my Mother." This brought smiles from Javier and Phillipe.

Erik sat down in his desk chair across from Emily. "You have already met Phillipe," he began, "he has had a chance to try using the typewriter, as have I." He paused for a moment, "Assuming that our first shipment is positively received, we have questions regarding the importation of more of the machines. Can you tell us a little about Remington's plans to expand the importation of the machine in France?"

Emily began, "Remington has been selling one thousand machines annually for the last two years running. In hopes of raising this figure by half, they are now making French and Italian keyboard arrangements for the machines which will facilitate a broader use than the standard QWERTY arrangement.

Erik sat with his hands on his thighs, reminding himself to relax. He had prepared himself for this face to face meeting with Madame Griggs, but sitting in broad daylight across from her still bothered him. He had waited years to trust Christine enough to reveal himself to her, and now in two days he was allowing this stranger into his life.

Phillipe asked, "Who is QWERTY? Is he the inventor?"

Emily smiled. "Ah no, QWERTY is what the letters on the far left of the third row up on the machine spell. On the French keyboard they spell AZERTY, and on the Italian they spell QZERTY." The men leaned forward to examine the typewriter keys. Emily continued, "The idea of a writing machine is not new, but the first commercially successful machine built used the QWERTY arrangement." Emily stopped at this point. She loved trivial details, they seemed to flesh things out and give such a better insight into the subject, but some people felt it was useless drivel detracting from the facts.

"So you say Remington did not invent this machine," Erik asked.

"The rights to it were sold to Remington, as the company had the resources to be able to mass produce it. It still took two years of further improvements on the first Remington version to get to this the Remington 2."

"Are there plans to change the machine again?" Erik asked. He didn't want to import machines that would be quickly made obsolete.

"Remington is always open to comments and suggestions. This will be the basic look and feel of the machine, no matter what further features might be changed. And now I have questions for you." Emily saw Monsieur's left eyebrow raise and tried not to be amazed at the change to his face. He had changed from a politely distant sort of interest, to an abrupt readiness as his gaze sharpened on her face.

"There are three areas that we need to cover. The first being how you will handle the return and re-inking of the ribbons for your customers, the second being do you plan to develop a repair service, and the last being the further training of typists for the business application of the machine."

Bravissima, thought Erik. Madame had just succinctly pointed out the crux of why the importation of the machines was important. It was the opportunity to ride a profitable wave of change in the business arena. Begrudgingly his impressions of her were raised another notch. Remington knew exactly what they were doing when they had packed her off to France. His interest piqued, there was much more to learn about Madame than met the eye. He turned to Javier. With a lift of his chin he said, "Go ahead."

"We have managed to bring in your typewriter, Emily," Javier said.

"Oh good," Emily breathed. "But I will need to get it apart and thoroughly dried to see if there is any chance of rust."

"Javier has taken it to a machinist we know who can start dismantling it," Erik interjected. "He is to be your 'area number two'; we plan for him to be our repair person." He noticed she sat with a little quirk of a smile playing on her lips.

"Very good," she said smoothly. "I'm going to have to keep busy to keep one step ahead of you, aren't I?"

Madame, Erik thought, you have no idea.

They continued for the better part of another hour covering the other two points that Emily had brought to the table. It was obvious that Javier would handle the repair situation through Eustache Vaudry, who had also purchased a machine for himself. Erik assigned Phillipe the list of stationers Emily had dealt with so far, as well as estimates of what it would take for them to take care of ribbons. At the last she brought up to Erik the idea of training proofreaders and typists.

Javier inquired, "What exactly is the need for training them, have not Monsieur and Phillipe managed on their own?"

"While use of the machine is not at all that difficult, training people has proven to increase their performance by lessoning the number of errors which have slowed them down. For instance, was I not listed as 'Emile Griggs'"?

"What is the job of the Editor?"

"I perform the usual jobs of the proof readers, checking for errors also in arithmetic, that the work does not use confusing chronological time frames or references, and most importantly" she paused to look directly at Erik, "I keep your voice."

Erik had realized with some relief that during that hour he had focused less on her personally and more on the business at hand. Not so now, for the impact of those last words were frightening. His voice along with his music was what Erik considered the better part of himself. It was the beauty in him that had charmed Christine, had wooed her into trusting him, loving him in her own way. For her to say she would be it's keeper was to say she was to posses the one part of him that he felt could make him worthy of some redemption, the thing that he had clung to during those years of desperation and rebuilding his life. She was going to take his soul.

Emily watched the change in his demeanor. His eyes once again had the glitter of jagged glass, hard and brittle and dangerous. There was tightness in his jaw, as he moved his hands to the arms of his chair. He took a deep breath and his brows moved down into a scowl. "What," he said in a menacing tone.

She started again in a quiet and steady voice, "I said I keep your voice. There is, of course, a degree of trust that must be achieved. Trust that I am to keep the writing and the content consistent with the idea put forth by the writer. I am also called upon for the utmost of discretion, leaving that person the freedom to develop what they are working on without worry of that information being relayed to others." She hoped the steady soothing tone of her words was penetrating the storm she saw forming before her.

Almost tangibly, she could feel the air change about her. The temperature was going up, and the light seemed to slightly warp at the edges of her eyes. He was staring at her as if his sheer force of will could push her away, containing her in a vessel he was forming with the energy that seemed to roll off of his body like waves of heat. She fancied she could here a low roaring sound, like the sound one gets when putting a sea shell to the ear. Watching him as calmly as she could, one word formed in her mind. _Sorcerer_. Other words formed like mists sliding by behind her eyes, writhing together to form a faint image in her mind; power, consuming darkness, and an awful hunger. Her body responded, her breath quickened and something formed low inside her, fingers tracing lines through her, up and down her spine. Soft as a whisper of heat from the mouth of a lover moving over the skin, his eyes changed, softened. Somehow she knew he had come back into control of himself.

Erik had seen her face, the change in her eyes after she stopped talking. He made himself relax. There was no way on this earth she could have anticipated his reaction. What ever it was that had passed between them, Javier and Phillipe had witnessed as well. He needed to get them out of the room, and collect himself.

Javier had watched Erik for over a year, as the capable businessman, and the disheveled and surly dock side worker. He had seen him angry, calculating, and intense as a hound running some game to ground. But he had never seen the strange look he had turned on Emily Griggs. He looked like a man who had just seen the gates of hell swing open, struggling to run as he witnessed the legions of the damned coming for him.

Erik looked at Phillipe, "Do you have any other questions at this time?"

"No," replied Phillipe. "Thank you Emily."

Erik turned to Javier, "And you?"

Javier looked briefly at Erik and then turned to Emily. Perhaps it was time to ask those 'anything' questions Erik had mentioned earlier. "Yes, I do," he began, "it appears that Remington has full faith in your abilities to handle this line of work. Do you experience difficulties dealing with men?"

Emily was surprised at this question. "Of course."

When she did not elaborate, Javier asked, "In what way?"

"Some resistance on the part of the men I have to deal with. In my experience it comes from their personal view of women in general."

Javier pressed, "But there must be some advantages in being a woman as well."

"That depends on what you would consider advantages. I work for Remington's interests, not my own. I do not promote any untoward contact with my clients. I do not rely on flirtations if that is what you are implying." She was trying hard to guess at what he was after.

"No, Madame," he replied gravely. "I do not believe that you would. Is that why you have kept your married name, so that you would not appear to welcome these advances?"

Emily held her breath as he asked the question, unsure of why he was asking.

"You travel alone Emily, is that not dangerous?"

Emily noted a trace of concern in Javier's eyes. Perhaps he was asking because they felt a woman alone in a city might be set upon by a man. For the sake of clarity, she answered the question. "Madame is not available," she said. "I have a companion already. I don't go anywhere without Monsieur Colt."

Still feeling a little put out by the line of questioning, she did note with some pride that her answer had surprised all three men. Let them ponder awhile on that one, she thought, if they were half as intelligent as they believed themselves to be they would soon put it together. "Do you have any further questions for me?"

Erik replied, "No Madame. Thank you for your time and your information."

Phillipe arose and ushered her to the door, she arose and bid them good day, and stepping onto the landing he took her arm. "I'm not sure why Javier asked you that," he began in a hushed tone, "you know M. De La Shaumette would have your safety in mind. He asked the persons at the hotel to look out for you, to report if you did not return from your engagements." He guided her down the stairs to the door.

"It's alright. I think it is as you say, and Javier is just curious," she replied, her words sounding hollow to her own ears. They paused at the door. "I'll see you Saturday when I come by to go out with Sophie."

She exited the house and started walking briskly towards her hotel. She liked to walk; it gave her time alone to think about what had happened today. The farther away from the house she got, the more certain she was that that would be the last time she would be there.

When Phillipe arrived back at the study, Erik had moved towards the window to watch her leave. He moved away from the window and gathered both the men with his eyes. "And just who is Monsieur Colt!" He thundered.


	5. The Elusive Monsieur

**A/N: Thank you so much to my reviewers, Kat, CecilyLune and the phantom's cry!**

_What loneliness is more lonely than distrust? _

_George Eliot_

**Chapter Five: The Elusive Monsieur**

When Phillipe arrived back at the study, Erik had moved towards the window to watch her leave. He moved away from the window and gathered both the men with his eyes. "And just who is Monsieur Colt!" He thundered.

He thought they had gathered all the information on her that was possible. Her traveling alone, divorced, her work for Remington. Now it appeared that what they knew about her was not as adequate as he had believed. "Javier?"

Javier pursed his lips, turning his head side to side, the picture of a man perplexed. "This is news to me. I did not think her accompanied. No one at the city said she was. Not at the boat, not from Dugast, and certainly he is not at the hotel with her unless he is a ghost!"

The irony of what Javier was saying was not lost to Erik. With a certainty he knew all there was to being a ghost. Living in the shadowy fringes of other people's lives, he knew how to go about undetected. A little suggestion of something here, a bit of trickery there, people were more predictable than they would have believed.

Erik looked at Phillipe. "Did you know anything of this?"

"No. She came with me from the hotel in a cab when we had dinner. She never mentioned a man, well, other than her husband."

Erik went back to his desk returning in his mind to what they had discussed. He had admittedly only just held himself in check with the whole 'voice' episode. Watching Emily's face when Javier questioned her had been interesting, the kind of interesting that slowly descends into something that would make the watcher ashamed to take part in. When she had pronounced in a strong voice that she was not available, he had felt bereft of something.

For God's sake, what was he expecting? He cursed himself once again for being such a fool. Did he think she would throw herself at him? Did he think she would be charmed by him after their initial words together here in the study? Did he expect some magnificent act of adoration on her part? She wasn't Christine. He had not taken the time or patience to weave an elaborate fantasy to bring her to him. That had done him little good. What did he know of Emily? Only what her forthright speech and that smile had told him.

Emily Griggs was cut from quite a different piece of cloth from the singers, dancers, and actresses he had spent his life around. There did not seem to be any artifice to her. If that was true, then this Colt fellow must be the reason she was not interested in men.

And what are you going to do now, he asked himself. Be honest with yourself, he thought, you had actually been hoping hadn't you? You know better than that. That is how it started with Christine, nurturing her and winning her confidence until you watched your hopes collapse and nearly burry you. God in heaven, even beyond his face he was still such a miserable specimen why would any woman want him?

Javier intruded upon his bout of self admonishment. "I will see what I can find out about this Colt fellow."

Erik dismissed them both for the day. It was still early, but he did not think he could wait until darkness was falling. The scarred man needed to go out again. He hoped that along some dark street some bumbling idiot would do him the great favor of picking a fight. It would make him feel so much better to take his frustrations out on some unlucky fool.

* * *

Emily did not want to go back to the hotel. She did so only long enough to retrieve her messages and drop off her satchel. She needed to get her own machine back. With it she could visit schools and businesses in order to drum up some interest in the machine. Then she could refer these people to M. De La Shaumette and have him finalize his next order for more machines.

With that though in mind she returned to the hotel and changed clothes, adding her long duster coat. She would pay a drop in visit to Eustache Vaudry, the man who had bought one of the typewriters, and who now had hers.

Emily found that the Vaudry's lived in an old store building at the end of a row across on the North side of the river. According to one of the men at the hotel, it was quite close to the area where warehouses began along the waterfront. Keeping in mind it would be dark when she returned, she paid careful attention as she walked across the bridge, to where shops or bars were that might be open when she left.

She had grown up in the country, where any women that were to travel farther than the next neighbor's farm were required to take a man with them. Emily though it was a bit ridiculous. They knew every family for miles around. But she had learned to drag one of her protesting brothers with her to her piano lessons once a week because it was 'just what is done'.

Learning to get around in cities, Emily relied on landmarks around her. She memorized the street names as she could, but associated pictures with street names. The Rue Roussel had a peculiar break in the cobblestones in front of a butcher shop. The Avenue de Sceaux faced the river's south bank with its wide sidewalk where people liked to stroll. She also paid attention to where alleys opened up to the streets. These were the likeliest places that someone would pop out of to bother her.

She found the Vaudry address and knocked at the door. After a few minutes she saw an older man peer out of the front curtains and move to open the door.

"Monsieur Vaudry? I am Emily Griggs."

He opened the door further and stepped back with a sweep of his arm. "Come in! Come in! My wife will be so surprised that you have stopped by. We were planning on seeing you the first of next week." He closed the door behind Emily and escorted her a little further into the front area of the building which looked to be his makeshift office area. Eustache Vaudry was an older man with thinning sandy colored hair and a slight build. As one would expect, he had a pair of eyeglasses propped on top of his head.

"I am sorry to intrude upon you, but I met with M. De La Shaumette today and he told me that Javier Fernandez had dropped my typewriter off to you. I was wondering if I could take a look at it."

Eustache wagged a finger at her. "Ah, Madame is worried about her machine. Come back to the shop and I will show you what I have done so far."

The back of the building had one long work bench on which rested her typewriter, removed from its outer shell. She noticed the bottles of oil and small tools lying around it. As she looked it over and spoke to him about its condition, she also noticed the amazing amount of tools and machinery in the shop. She commented, "It looks like you have a wide variety of interests."

He nodded enthusiastically. "I have been a machinist all my life. I love to tinker and it shows."

For a moment Emily felt a pang of homesickness. "My grandfather did to. There was not one thing that that man could not fix, even if he had never seen one before. My family said that he was the reason that I am so interested in how things work." Actually, her family had been a bit distressed with Emily's natural talent to fix things. Her grandfather was happy, but her brother had once called her a freak during an argument. It had been like a slap in the face to Emily; her brother reminded her that girls were to cook and clean, not get dirty and take things apart.

"Did you get a chance to work on any of Remington's firearms?" he asked.

"No, mostly the sewing machines and typewriters," she replied. "Are you interested in guns?"

"Ah, yes. With all the political problems we have the government does not allow many to private owners unless they had a lot of influence or money," he said with a wink.

"Well, don't be alarmed, but I have brought something with me." From her coat, she pulled out her Colt .45 pistol. She quickly flipped open the chamber and pulled out the bullets she had loaded it with and dropped them on his work bench. Reversing in her grip she offered it to him.

Eustache examined it with the excitement of a child at Christmas time. He asked a multitude of questions and Emily showed him how it came apart for cleaning. They discussed gun oil and bullets, and she finally let him load it. Standing to his side, she reminded him to be careful of the trigger, because it was ready to fire.

He finally handed it over to her, carefully pointing it towards the back of the building. "I would so love to see it shoot."

She carefully put the gun back in her coat, and finally bid good night to Eustache. She left the building, looking once up and down the street before turning towards the bridge.

* * *

Coming from the opposite direction Javier and Erik dressed as the scarred man rounded the corner in time to recognize Emily Griggs leaving Eustache Vaudry's building. They both stepped back hastily and after a minute Javier peered around the corner. "She's heading for the bridge."

The two men went quickly to Vaudry's door and knocked. "Ah, more visitors," Eustache said. "Madame Griggs was just here."

Entering the shop, Erik asked, "We can't stay long, was she here with a gentleman?"

"No, Monsieur."

"She was not accompanied by a Monsieur Colt?" Javier asked.

Eustache blinked owlishly over his glasses and then burst out in a raspy laugh. Erik and Javier looked at the man as if all sanity had suddenly fled him. "What is so amusing?"

Laughing harder, Eustache made his way to set down at his desk. "Monsieur as you call him is a gun!" Calming a little, he pulled off his glasses. "She is accompanied by her Colt pistol."

Erik turned a thunderous scowl on Javier who was now guffawing, setting off Eustache Vaudry in a hail of laughter again. Seeing Erik's expression, Javier attempted a straight face. "Sorry, but she has outsmarted us both my friend." He giggled a little, shaking his head, "That woman is going to be a handful."

"Yes, but that 'hand full' is now heading back to the other side of the river alone," Erik groused. "We need to make sure that she gets to the hotel alright." They made hasty apologies to Eustache and went to the bridge. They just saw Emily turning to the left as she reached the opposite end.

Starting forward, Erik was stopped by Javier's hand on his arm. "Wait, she can't see you like this. I'll follow her back. If she realizes it's me I'll just say I saw her, and escort her back."

Erik nodded agreement and watched Javier start across the bridge. He worried that with Javier behind her, she still would have to turn up one of the streets where there would be a considerable lag in time before Javier would catch up to her. The amount of time he could use the lasso on someone. With that thought, Erik turned up the street and began running to the next bridge. It had been a long time since he had run this hard, but worry for Emily propelled him on.

He reached the next bridge and crouched down at a lamp post on the end to check to see if Emily was coming. As the street lamps had just been lit in the dusk she looked far enough away that she might not be able to make him out. He sped along the rails of the bridge, keeping low until he reached the end where he straightened up and strode purposefully across the road and began running up the street Emily would take. Choosing an alley up a few cross streets, he stepped back into the darkness and waited.

Emily looked for her landmarks, the cobblestones and the butchers shop along the dimly lit street. While she did not hear anything around her, she began to get an uncomfortable feeling. She remembered counting four alleys that she would have to cross, at the second one she ducked in quickly and waited. If anyone was following her, she would see them when she appeared out of the alley.

The next alley up and across the other side of the street, Erik heard her footsteps stop abruptly. He listened to hear any muffled sounds, but was too far to hear a possible struggle. Waiting as long as he dared, he finally broke cover and stepped into the street. He froze as he heard a metallic click and Emily's voice, "Looking for me?"

Emily tried to make him out in the dim light. He was tall and dressed in some kind of coat. He had turned his head to the right; some of his hair covered the features on the left side of his face. "No," the man replied with a wave of his arm and began to turn away from her.

She didn't need any more than the sound of his voice to tell her what she needed to know. She walked across the street with the pistol still aimed at him in case she was mistaken, looking back the way she came she saw Javier rounding the corner. Putting her back towards the building she looked between both men. "Nice to see you again Javier, you and Monsieur…?" Evidently he traveled about as someone else. A fact she found a little disquieting.

Javier raised his hands a little out at his sides. "This is just someone I know. He was looking for me." He started across the street. "We were going to meet and have a drink."

Erik didn't move but was furiously hoping Javier could distract her. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his throat; he didn't want her to see him this way. He took a slow step backwards. She turned back to him. "We need to talk." He stood frozen.

Still looking down he replied, "No, tomorrow."

He heard the noise of the gun being uncocked, and Emily stepping towards him. "Tell me that I'm not in something illegal." She stopped. "Tell me what is going on." She stopped again but her voice shook with some emotion, "Tell me I'm not going to be tossed into some French jail for the rest of my life. If anything goes wrong here, Remington will not help me."

When he did not reply, Emily stepped even closer. In a small voice she asked, "Why won't you just talk to me?"


	6. Dutiful Soldiers

**A/N Thanks again to my reviewers...you inspire me onward!**

_All I need is a little love now and then, but some chocolate will do for now.  
Lucy Van Pelt_

**Chapter Six: Dutiful soldiers**

She waited a moment and then walked away, heading up the street towards her hotel. She heard someone behind her. Javier was walking quickly to catch up to her and slowed as he came abreast of her. "Ah, you have questions, yes?"

"No, actually I don't. I'm going to my room and in the morning I'll be leaving the hotel."

"Emily, there's no need for that." He stopped as she rounded on him, hands on hips.

"Well lets see," she began counting off on her fingers. "Sinking boats, a man who I am not supposed meet, you dredge up my machine without planning on telling me about it, a little early evening sneaking around on people." She quieted her voice, "And now we have two Monsieurs not one and . . . well, I'm sure I'll think of something else while I pack." She turned and continued walking.

He watched her walk away. "Well, good night." She said something that must have been in English, because it sounded a lot like 'jussgottahell vothayu'. He doubted it was anything he'd want to hear repeated in French.

Emily checked for messages at the hotel's desk and ran up the stairs quickly to her room. Tomorrow was Friday and she was to go see Françoise Desloges in the afternoon. On Saturday she had planned on meeting up with Sophie Robillard to go shopping. She hoped Sophie wouldn't mind helping her find a more permanent place to stay.

Before she went to bed, she wrote one last message. Sliding on her robe and taking down her hair, she propped her pillow against the headboard and tried to read her current book. After reading the same page at least four times, she gave up and tossed it aside.

She kept seeing the man standing at the mouth of the alley in the last light of the evening. She had caught the voice. As she had stepped closer, he had turned his face down and away, there was something to that movement and his eye. It reminded her of approaching a stray animal, the hope mixed with fear that was in their sad eyes. A creature used to being whipped and abused, awaiting the next blow, but silently pleading for love instead. It had made her loose her resolve to confront him, and just leave after asking, "Why won't you just talk to me?"

This whole trip was getting stranger. It should have been some kind of omen when the canal boat started leaking, then Georges Dugast warning her not to meet with Monsieur that evening. And how did he always know how to find her? And now, she found he was traveling in a disguise of sorts.

She had just started to settle in and meet some friends. Were they all just little birds flying back to De la Shaumette, parroting what he wanted to hear? She rubbed her forehead which was now starting to pound. She wished she had stashed some chocolate in the room. It would have been small comfort, but at least it would have been something.

* * *

Erik had waited for Javier to return and told him he would see him tomorrow. Winding down the alleys, he went to the back stairs of his house. Climbing them quickly, he stripped off his disguise. He pulled on his robe and went downstairs to the parlor to a cabinet to retrieve a bottle of Brandy. Taking it back to the study with him he sat down in his chair next to the fire and started going through the day's paper.

After the fire started to die down, he went to the piano and began to play. His hands seemed to find the keys, but in his head he didn't hear the music. Finally he started to play the song he had written, it seemed like a lifetime ago. The song he had sung to Christine, _The Music of_ _The Night_. At some point he began to sing the words as well, his voice sounding strangely rough in his ears.

His voice. His hands slowed on the keys. He saw Emily sitting across the desk from him, 'I keep your voice,' she was saying. God in heaven, she didn't understand what she was saying. He turned down the lamps and walked through the dark quiet of his home and found his bed. Laying down he surrendered to the peaceful arms of sleep.

He was lying in the swan bed. He heard something, someone, and got up. Pulling on his robe, he went out to the large grotto and saw Christine sitting at the organ. He approached her slowly, he could see her hair tumbling down her back, her willowy figure bent forward, she was writing something down on one of his pieces of sheet music. "Christine," he whispered reverently. She looked up and turned to him, opening her mouth as if to speak she made no sound. "Christine, my love, what is it?" She gestured towards the paper, and turned back to her writing. He stepped closer, his hands hovering in the air just above her shoulders, he could feel the warmth of her body. He stopped his hands; he ached to touch her, but feared that if he did she would disappear as she had so many times before in his dreams. "This is another dream isn't it?" he asked, dropping his hands. "You will never return to me, will you?" She turned and smiled sadly at him. "I know. You have a love of your own now, you have children now." He felt a tear running down his face. "You know I will always love you, angel. But I understood that I had to let you go. You would have withered and died here in my darkness."

He stopped as she pointed towards the water; she got up and took the paper with her, gesturing toward the gondola. As he approached the boat, she reached out grasping his hand tugging him towards it. She seemed agitated now, her gestures growing wilder. He finally turned to gaze at the boat and saw it was growing larger, the water around it starting to churn, it began to reach the size and shape of a canal boat. Christine tossed the paper from her hand. Landing on the deck it expanded, folded, shifted, colors running across it where the ink was getting wet. It grew larger and began to take a form. Water running over the deck, the boat groaned in a noise like the voice of something tortured, there was a loud splashing sound and the form on the deck moved. It was a body, and its head had rolled to one side. He did not see the face, he did not have to. The hair so like his own was spread across the face like filthy tendrils crawling across her features. It was Emily. He tried to step forward. Horrified that he could not move, looking down he felt the world tilt and darkness swallow him.

He awoke with one hand twisted in the sheets, his pillow on the floor. He sat up on the side of the bed, retrieving the pillow. "What is it, Christine," he asked the darkness. "Is it the future or the past?"

* * *

"Enter," Erik said to the knock at the study door.

"Good Morning, Monsieur. I have brought you the morning paper." Etienne opened it and offered it to his employer. "And look, it is our Madame."

Erik took the offered page and saw the society column penned by Madame Pinson had an article about meeting Emily Griggs. At the side of the article was a picture of a small girl in an overly large hat and a dark long-sleeved dress standing on what looked to be a porch beside a ramshackle house. The child had a rifle next to her which was nearly as tall as she; her right hand clenched around it, her tiny left hand was perched gently on the shoulder of a toy bear that was sitting on a footstool. Bringing the page closer, he looked at the child's downcast eyes, gazing at the bear. He cherubic face a study in concern as if she intended to protect her toy.

The girl in the picture could be any child, but something in the way she held her head as she looked down was definitely Emily. He noticed her ears were sticking out below the hat's brim, and she had little wisps of hair across her forehead. He wondered if Emily had a daughter, would she look like this. He scanned the article again finding no reference to her age in the picture, only that it was taken at her grandfather's house.

He refolded it and laid it down on the corner of his desk. He went back to the contracts he had been going over when the though struck him; Etienne had referred to her as 'our Madame'. When exactly had that started?

Shortly before noon, Phillipe and Javier converged at the house. Checking with Etienne, they continued up the stairs to the study and knocked on the door. They swept into the room after they heard Erik give his permission.

Neither man commented on the fact that the day was overcast from the drizzling rain outside, but the curtains were closed. Phillipe wondered if he were a bit ill, perhaps a headache. Javier knew it was the disturbing evening with Emily. He seemed overly concerned last night that she was traveling about alone and had been clearly displeased that previously he had believed that she was traveling with a man. To Javier, this could be one of the few times he had seen that infernal mask slip to reveal what was beneath. He didn't mean the leather one, but the one Erik perpetually wore before him.

Fulfilling this position, Javier realized he was a part of Erik's personally as much as Phillipe. He wondered if Phillipe had made this discovery as well. The calm, cultured and ever so polite Phillipe was the kind of public face De La Shaumette would wear. Javier was the scoundrel like Charles Martin. The difference was they were free to change back to who they were. Javier wondered if Erik really was this man he saw before him, or if this was only a single image like a reflection in a cracked mirror. How many Eriks were there and did he even know himself?

"It appears we have solved the question of who M. Colt is," Erik began, directing his attention to Phillipe. "Madame was referring to her Colt pistol."

Philippe's brows went up. "God lord, you mean she carries around one of her guns?"

"It appears at times she does. I received a message from Georges Dugast this morning, apparently the town of Jumieges where Madame's sinking canal boat put in to off load what cargo they could, has invited her back to town this Sunday afternoon for a celebration."

Phillipe grinned. "Any excuse for a celebration…"

Javier added, "Is a good excuse."

Erik sat back in his desk chair. "I want Madame Griggs to be accompanied by someone other than her Colt friend.

Javier and Phillipe both began at once. "Of course,…,"stopped to point at themselves. "Well I should…" Switching, they pointed fingers at the other. "I don't think you should…".

"Gentlemen, I want you both to go. I sent a request this morning to her room at the hotel. She should be joining us shortly. Until then, I suggest we go over the information we have so far on what caused us to almost lose our typewriters on that boat."

Emily had fully intended on moving out that morning, as she opened her door to go take her bath, a young man was perched in the hallway. He approached and offered her a note. Returning after her bath she read:

_Madame,_

_It appears that an invitation to attend a social event_

_has been delivered to M. Dugast, who has passed_

_it on to me. If it would not interfere with your schedule_

_would you be so kind as to retrieve it today around_

_one in the afternoon._

_Your Obedient Servant_

_DLS_

Obedient Servant, she thought. You weren't very obedient last night when I asked you to talk to me. My, my, how convenient, it gets sent to _His_ home, not to me. No wonder he knows my every move." She tossed the note on the dresser. She was to be at Françoise Desloges at one o'clock. Feeling a little wicked; she got her pen and wrote a note back to Monsieur.

Erik received the note at about the time he had been expecting Emily to arrive. The instant Etienne walked in bearing a piece of paper, he knew that she had refused. He knew she was upset last night. He had made sure there was a very large tip for the hotel staff if they could get her the note first thing in the morning, hoping to forestall her threat to leave the hotel. Opening the note he read:

_Monsieur,_

_I regret to say that I have an appointment_

_at one this afternoon. I am not sure how_

_long this meeting will last._

_If you would be so kind, can you have the_

_message sent to the hotel where I can_

_retrieve it this evening._

_E.G._

Pursing his lips, he dropped the note on the desk. "It appears that Madame has to be at a previous engagement at one o'clock. We will have to meet this evening."

He picked up his pen and another piece of note paper. Javier and Phillipe watched with great interest as Erik wrote out the note with quick sharp movements. As they watched, he finished and folded the note. His assistants both found something else on his desk extremely interesting to look at as he brought his attention back to them.

Erik concluded their meeting for the day, following the two men down the stairs. He handed the note to Etienne and told him to send it to Madame at the hotel.

"I cannot, Monsieur. Madame came by and dropped this off for you."

Erik took the note from Etienne and quickly ripped it open. His face hardened and he glanced up at the men. "It appears that Madame is resigning." He dropped his hand, but not before the other men noticed how white his knuckles were turning as he crushed the note in his fist.

Before he could say another word, his two assistants and his servant turned to each other, then back to him. "Chocolate, Monsieur."

Eyes narrowing, he ground out, "What?"

"Larmes de Jeanne d'Arc". Erik looked toward the kitchen door. Agnes stood wiping a dish with a towel. "The tears of Joan of Arc," she repeated.

"Oh yes, my sister Sophie loves those," Phillipe said.

Javier just stood with a grin on his face that Erik would have loved to wipe off.

"Auzon, the chocolatier in the old town," Etienne added. "They have made chocolates since 1634."

Erik treated them to something they had never seen before, a moment of indecision on his face. Following that he did something else, he smiled. Javier didn't know which was more disconcerting. The only time he had ever really seen the man smile was seconds before he exploded into a level of violence that sent many a man running in any direction they could from him.

Erik lifted a hand in a careless gesture as he turned to go up the stairs. "Taking under advisement what my staff has suggested, perhaps we should secure a sample of these "tears" as you refer to them."

By later that afternoon there were no less than three boxes of chocolates neatly wrapped with elegant bows sitting like dutiful soldiers ready for battle upon the kitchen table.


	7. An Invitation

**Chapter Seven: An Invitation**

The home of Françoise Desloges was a small row house in Eslettes about 4 miles north of the river. Even in the drizzle and overcast skies, Emily enjoyed the cab ride, as she got to see more of the older side of Rouen. Known for a plethora of churches, she noticed spire after spire and at one o'clock was treated to a chorus of bells from all directions ringing out the time.

Françoise seemed a little shy, but Emily patiently worked with her to learn the features of the machine. As they began, Françoise drew on a pair of eye glasses and sat with hands folded in her lap like a schoolgirl. Emily estimated her age at around thirty; she dressed modestly in a simple house dress with her brown hair pulled back in a chignon. A light layer of lipstick adding color to her lips. Françoise had a delightful set of dimples. Behind her glasses long dark lashes framed her hazel eyes.

After they had done some practice with the typing, Emily asked why she had bough one of the machines. "Actually, I am working on a novel," Francoise told her. "I have had three stories published. That is one of the reasons I saved up and ordered the typewriter; my novel has turned into a much larger project than I had anticipated." She rubbed the wrist of her right hand. "Using the pen for so long cramps my hand, so I give up until I can get the muscles to relax."

Emily offered her services as a proofreader to Françoise, and told her not to hesitate if she had any other questions.

Calling a cab, Emily checked the time and noted that it was about four-thirty. Not to late in the afternoon, but she wondered if Monsieur De La Shaumette had forwarded her note or if he expected her to return to the house and fetch it. Still a little full from lunch, Emily though she would check for the note and then go for a cup of tea.

Arriving at the hotel, she was greeted by the same young man who had been perched outside her room in the morning. This time he handed her a note and a small white box tied with a little golden bow. Noting the "DLS" embossed seal on the envelope; she unlocked her door and sat on the bed to read the note:

_Dearest Madame,_

_I regret that our timing this afternoon left us_

_at cross purpose, as I was prepared to deliver your_

_invitation to an event to be staged on Sunday afternoon._

_Speaking with my staff, I have decided to meet again this_

_evening at my home at seven o'clock and require your_

_presence as we have some news about the unfortunate_

_occurrence that affected your travel earlier this week._

_I would wish to impress upon you the importance that_

_we examine these findings as they will have_

_impact upon my decision to work with Remington._

_Accompanying this message is a small token which_

_we offer for your approval._

_My Deepest Regards,_

_DLS_

Emily untied the bow and opened the box, peeking inside her jaw dropped. Nestled inside tiny paper cups were small chocolates. "Clever man," she breathed. She popped one of the confections in her mouth and found it was an almond covered in nougat and chocolate. Savoring the candy with closed eyes, she finally swallowed. Maybe he was a sorcerer, how else could he have known that chocolate was one of her weaknesses?

Sorcerer indeed, could she sit their quietly discussing business after the events of last night? Despite her years of working with people, Emily was getting nervous. How they handled business together was one thing, how she could expose herself to that penetrating gaze and not get flustered or embarrassed was something else entirely.

* * *

Realizing he had to be ready for Emily's visit, Erik had requested that dinner be moved up by half and hour. Agnes met this challenge cheerfully, producing a salad and a main course of thinly sliced fillets of chicken in a Roquefort sauce with sautéed potatoes and green beans.

After all those years living on his own, his one indulgence to sweets was usually chocolate. Having sent one of the boxes to Emily this afternoon, he wondered at how she had received it. His hope was that it would smooth over any remaining feelings she had from the previous night in the alley.

His dinner finished, he quickly climbed the stairs and went to his water closet. Cleaning his teeth, he took a moment to check his reflection in the mirror. Heaven forefend he should be found with crumbs on his jacket. He stepped back and wondered if he should divest himself of his suit coat and cravat for something less formal. Checking his pocket watch, he had little time to change and decided against it as Emily was usually punctual.

He went to the study and his chair by the fireplace. Sitting down to wait he heard Javier arriving downstairs. The clock showed it was six-forty. A short interval later, he heard Philippe's voice downstairs as well. He glanced at the clock; the hands now displayed six-forty-three. Crossing one knee over the other leg, he sat back in the chair and looked about the room. Fingers drumming on the table beside him, he glanced again at the clock; it displayed six forty-eight.

Pursing his lips he noticed his fingers were tapping harder on the surface of the table. Glancing again at the clock, it was now six fifty-one. He arose from the chair and went to stand near the fireplace. He turned and walked to his desk, turning back, the mantel clock said it was six fifty-five.

He stood with brows lowered. She was not going to come. He cursed himself and twice damned Phillipe and Javier, his accomplices in the chocolate plot. He should have written her a note in sterner language demanding her attendance. He stalked over to the fireplace, composing in his mind the next message he would send to the woman, when he heard another knock at the door.

He stood listening to Etienne greeting Emily. He let out the breath he had not realized he was holding. Shaking his head, he credited his nervousness to having to deal with the female of the species. He wondered if other men felt like this around women, or if this was just a special circle of hell reserved for him alone.

Finally a knock upon the door sounded, Erik instructed them to enter. Etienne stepped into the room, holding open the door for Javier, Phillipe and Emily who filed in with polite nods to Erik.

Emily walked in with her hands clasped before her. It was customary for a woman to follow gentlemen up the stairs, and so she brought up the rear feeling like the last little duck in a line of its siblings. Flames happily licking at the coal in the fireplace cast a golden glow behind De La Shaumette as he waited for them to enter the room. As they filed in, he brought up a hand smoothly in a gesture that indicated they would retire to the chairs around the desk once again.

Emily turned towards one of the chairs, and was surprised to hear his resonant voice behind her, "Madame is …wet?" She turned towards the voice and found him moving silently towards her. Despite the warmth of the room, she shivered.

Erik noticed her hair, wet strands clinging together, and a smattering of what looked to be wet spots on her shoulders.

"Yes, Monsieur." She paused with her head tilted to one side. "It started pouring rain as I left the hotel." Emily wondered how he could not have noticed the rain as it drummed on the front of the house.

"Come, you must sit by the fire." He indicated his reading chair. "You will catch your death…" He remembered his dream. Christine had been so adamant to warn him of danger to Emily, the vision of her pale broken body lying on the deck like a doll carelessly dropped and forgotten. He stepped backwards to allow her to pass in front of him. Following a step behind, he stopped next to the chair and turned up the gas light for a little more illumination for her. Thinking she must be chilled, he asked, "Would you care for a Brandy?"

"I'll get the bottle," Javier ventured. He left the study before Erik or Emily could respond. Erik moved half way between the sofa and the chair, seeming to hover undecided until he saw Javier enter with a bottle and four glasses. Setting them down, Javier poured out the liquor and Phillipe presented two of the glasses to Erik and Emily.

Emily took hers and waited a moment for everyone to have their glasses. Javier raised his saying, "_Salud_," to which Phillipe replied "_Santé_". Emily raised hers to the room in general. "To angels rescued from the fall." Erik had raised his glass as well, nodded in agreement, and they all took their first drink together. As he lowered his glass, he wondered how many times Emily Griggs was going to continue to surprise him.

With Javier and Phillipe on the couch, Erik was left to sit on the piano bench. He gave them a minute to allow Emily the chance to take another sip of her Brandy. He wondered if she still was cold, as she seemed to be shivering.

Emily took another sip and hoped her hand wasn't shaking enough to give away her nervousness. On the way over she had thought about what had happened last night in the street, Javier obviously knew something of this kind of activity, she wondered if Phillipe did. She also wondered about the box of chocolates. Was that an amends for a man unaccustomed to making apologies? Was she expected to say thank you? Emily hoped fervently that Monsieur De La Shaumette had an agenda worked out for this evening.

"I should like to begin Madame on the more pleasant topic that we must cover this evening. You have received an invitation from the Mayor to return to the village of Jumieges on Sunday afternoon for a celebration." Erik watched as surprise registered on Emily's face. She seemed undecided as to what to reply. "In April and the town spends the afternoon cleaning up their public square and planting flowers and such. They make a celebration of it and have invited you as their Guest of Honor."

"Followed by much eating and drinking in the evening," Javier put in.

Emily ruminated on the publicity the Remington would enjoy if this made the papers. "I suppose that would be alright," she conceded.

"I can have M. Dugast cover the arrangements for your travel to and from this affair." Erik noticed her face wore that small smile he had seen before. He heard his own voice asking, "Why are you smiling?"

"Just thinking. My first French party and they invite me to dig up weeds." Her smile grew even brighter.

Erik wondered how it was that she smiled like a woman who knows a secret. It teased him with its mystery, it piqued his interest with its implications, it promised things deep and sensual. One could spend many an hour unraveling that smile.

"It is within proper etiquette to provide you with an escort for the trip. Javier and Phillipe are putting themselves at your disposal for the day. And that leads me to our second topic." Erik arose and went to the desk, putting his glass down. He walked slowly back to the bench and sat down. "After the incident at Jumieges with the boat, I sent Javier to take a crew back and investigate the damage. Although it appears to have happened because of some careless cargo loading, we do not believe that is the case." He paused to let Emily ponder this a moment. "Since the importation of the machines is something new, it might be that one of my competitors has arranged this accident."

Emily felt the pull of his words, his voice rich and persuasive. His eyes never left hers; she felt there was a lot more that he had not told her yet. He sat forward, holding her eyes with his. "Madame, whether it was intended or not, the boat could have gone down with you on board."

He had to give her credit; she did not react overtly to this fact. Her gaze shifted to a point over his shoulder, and her eyes focused on some other time, some other place. She looked back at him. "I understand."

"We could be wrong," he continued, rising from the bench. "But I wish to err on the side of caution. We will investigate the possibility that someone targeted the boat and typewriters. As you have been invited back to the town, I feel it imperative to send both Phillipe and Javier with you. Phillipe has been busy tracing back your travel documents to see who would have access to them. An unwitting accomplice might have passed on dates and times of the boats' travel and as such given enough information for a person to arrange for your unfortunate trip."

"Is that taking into consideration that I was an Emily rather than the expected Emile Griggs?"

"It is my sincere hope that your part in this was only an error in their judgment, an unavoidable coincidence" he replied.

"And if it was not," she asked, glancing at Javier and Phillipe.

Erik moved closer to the fireplace, its glow setting off the fire in the eye on the unmasked side of his face. "Emily," he said fiercely. "I will not allow anyone to harm you."


	8. A Kept Woman

_If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities. _

_Maya Angelou_

**Chapter Eight: A Kept Woman**

Emily looked down at the glass she held in her hands. His voice touched something inside of her; the sensation was so intense she felt a flush start in her face and go racing down her neck and shoulders. He had said her name finally; he made it sound so achingly beautiful that she wanted to hear it again.

Erik watched her take a deep breath, thinking she was descending into the dark possibility of someone wishing her death. He wanted so desperately for her to trust him in this that it made him hurt to look at her. Anger swept through him as well, as fierce as fire it could consume his reason. He knew the blind determination to slip the lasso from his hands and with deadly certainty take the last living breath of whoever had planned this. Their malice or sheer stupidity could have cost her life.

Emily collected her thoughts and looked up at him. Hoping fervently that she wasn't blushing she said in a small voice, "I think I need some more Brandy." Before anyone could react, she quickly left the chair and went to the desk. Her back still to them, she poured more of the liquor into her glass with a shaky hand. Calm yourself down girl, she thought, you are too old to start making up romantic fantasies.

She turned back and went to the piano bench, tucking her skirt under her as she sat down. She finally looked at Erik. "Thank you, Monsieur." She wanted to add something, but her mind wasn't working. "Do you have any idea of which of your competitors it might be?"

"I do not have any particular reason for suspicion," Erik replied. "You understand that in this business we compete as well as come to each others aide at times."

Phillipe added, "A year ago there was a fire at one of the textile mills. They needed fresh supplies of cotton on short notice as well as replacement parts for the looms. Every boat and coach from Le Havre to Paris made arrangements to shuffle cargos and carry for each other to free up the larger barges to bring in the supplies."

Erik proceeded, "Rouen itself now has over ten miles of docks along the river. There is always a bit of rivalry. If arguments arise between men, it threatens to spill over into all manner of problem."

"There is perhaps a more subtle competition?"

"Yes, there is always a competition of that nature," Erik agreed. "Phillipe has found that there is a possible contract with a boat yard to produce the next larger size of canal boat that the government will allow to travel through this area. It can handle the river, but the branching smaller canals have a lock system which would prohibit their travels. If this is true, the smaller boats will be competing for that business."

"Do you know who the contract is for?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Phillipe. "It is under bid for Jules Gaultier. He currently owns six of the smaller boats."

"We have never had a problem with him before," Javier put in.

"No, but he must come up with the resources he can rely upon to secure a loan for the boat building," Erik replied. "The prospect of the typewriter import could be what he is counting on."

They all sat in silence a moment, Emily taking in all the details and the men at a loss to produce any more clues that were not mere conjecture. "Not to stray too far from the subject, but you did get my notice of resignation did you not?"

Erik took a step towards the piano, simply looking at her. His displeasure etched in his intense eyes and the set of his mouth.

Emily began, "Wouldn't it be a good thing for that to happen at this point? I mean if we want to prove that it was not an attempt personally on me, just an effort to complicate your contract with Remington…"

Javier got up and went for the bottle on the desk. "She makes a point. For her to distance herself from the company and yourself at this point might be safer for her."

Erik looked to Phillipe. "I would have to agree. Not that we wouldn't continue to work with her, but it would appear that she was no longer in your confidence."

Erik conceded, "Very well, we shall do it for your sake, Madame." Emily began to relax until he added, "Only for that reason. I would not allow you to resign otherwise."

"Ah well, that just leaves me moving out of the hotel then."

"Confound it all woman, you do not need to give up your room at the hotel," Erik said sharply.

To this Emily rubbed a hand across her forehead. "I really need to get out of there. It's time I find something more comfortable…"

"The hotel is not adequate?" His voice was getting rougher.

"No Monsieur." She held up a hand as if to ward off his growing displeasure. "It's not that. The hotel is more than adequate. Everything has been just fine. It's just that I have been traveling for almost two months now. I'm tired of living out of a trunk; I just want something more permanent."

Erik ruminated on this for a moment. He did enjoy his privacy and the comfort of his home. "Yes, I can see that."

"And there is the fact that you are paying for it," Phillipe added.

"What is the problem with that? I have provided lodgings for other business men I have brought to Rouen," he asked genuinely puzzled.

Emily closed her eyes for a moment. "Because you are a man," she paused, gesturing with a hand. "And I am a woman."

Erik looked at her and blinked. "That is obvious."

Javier explained, "She means that people will assume you are keeping her, as a mistress."

To Emily, his expression might have actually been amusing if it did not seem that he was so distressed by the comment from Javier. He seemed at a loss for words momentarily. To Erik, he didn't know what part of it surprised him more. That people would actually assume he had a mistress or that fortune would smile upon him and provide a woman who would agree to it. He dared a glance at Emily. "Do they presume this already?"

Emily shrugged carelessly. "If they do you are quick, Monsieur." She added in English, "But we certainly aren't reaping the benefits from it." All three men were looking at her quizzically. She waved a hand in the air. "It's not worth repeating," she said in French.

Erik had not heard her speak in her native tongue before. If this was something she did, he would have to look into getting a dictionary of French to English translation. At least this lapse in conversation gave him a moment to get over his befuddlement at the prospect of Emily being considered his mistress. One part of him was oddly distressed; the other was absurdly proud at the prospect. Erik cleared his throat. "It must be embarrassing for Madame."

Emily shook her head no. "It was natural, I am divorced and Monsieur is an attractive man. People love a good story or bit of juicy gossip."

As she finished speaking, she realized that he did not know that he was an attractive man. How could he not? He seemed mature, established, a comfortable home, an expanding business. It had to be the Mask. Whatever he was covering was sadly keeping him from enjoying his life as it should have been. She could not help but wonder again at what had happened to him in his lifetime to cut himself off from the world. He seemed to be avoiding looking at her, much the same as in the alley, the look of a stray animal caught between hope and fear.

Javier approached with the bottle. "Would anyone care for more?"

"No," Emily said. "I haven't eaten dinner yet, so two glasses are plenty for me."

Javier grinned. "I'll remember that when we go to Jumieges for the celebration. I'd be remiss in my duties if I let someone get you drunk."

Emily had to laugh. "Oh no, I don't get drunk. People are either lovers or fighters when they drink too much. I don't love anybody when I drink."

"Please say you aren't taking your guns then, Emily," Phillipe interjected.

Emily put a finger to her lips and looked at the two men; Erik noted the impish glee in her eyes. "Madame," he began in a warning voice.

"I think it would be a splendid idea." She added in an almost seductive voice, "You could to learn to shoot."

Javier sat back down on the couch. "Ah, this should be quite fun."

Phillipe looked a bit distressed. "I'm not very good at things of that nature."

Emily looked at him. "Phillipe, if it means your life or someone else's, you'd be amazed at how good you learn to be."

"What do you mean?"

She turned to Erik. "If it was not necessarily an assault on me the other day, but an action to warn you, it is possible that you will have others to worry about." She indicated Phillipe "Sophie or your Mother." Looking back to Erik she added, "Agnes or Etienne." Turning to Javier she asked, "You have family here?"

Javier's face grew starkly serious. "Yes, my parents and my two sisters." He looked at Erik. "One sister is married with a family of her own."

Erik stood before the fireplace. For a man alone in the world he seemed to have just inherited a rather large circle of family that was growing by leaps and bounds. "Yes Madame, I had taken this under consideration." Erik heard the mantel clock striking, it was getting late and Emily had said she had not had dinner yet. "I think that is all we need to cover for this evening. Would one of you gentlemen care to escort Madame back to the hotel?" Phillipe nodded assent. "Thank you, Phillipe. If you would please leave Madame and me alone for a moment."

Javier and Phillipe retreated from the study taking the bottle and glasses with them. After a moment Erik approached the piano bench. He sat down on the bench facing the piano, the unmasked part of his face towards her while Emily at the other end faced the opposite direction. "You have seen a part of me that only Javier has been privy to. The man you saw last night is who I once was. I used the money I made on investments, and in time became who I am now. I still revert back to that man when I have needed to be seen in public. I do not totally rely on Javier or Phillipe." There was so much more to tell, but not yet. Not until he knew how much he could trust her.

"So, I would not have seen this man except for last night's accidental meeting?"

"No, you have no need to know of this."

"As we would say, 'the cat is out of the bag'."

He wondered why anyone would want a bag with a cat in it, but decided this must be an American expression of some sort. "I am now going to ask you not to reveal what you know to anyone. I do not use this persona for things illegal as you have assumed. I also wish to keep the identities separate." He paused for a moment before adding, "People are not always kind, Madame. I do not allow people to see me."

She nodded, "Of course, Monsieur." She added with a wry grin, "As long as you don't mention the pistol episode either." Noting the expression of disdain on his face she let out a small laugh. "That was Monsieur Colt."

"Madame does not need to carry a gun." He paused to look at her. "I meant what I said. I will not let any harm come to you." He indicated himself, "This man could not walk the streets without drawing attention. The other man you saw is quite at home with the violence of the waterfront. It is him you will see when you are about at night, if I let you see him at all. I will be there Emily, you can count on that."

She smiled almost sadly. "I think that if you tell me I will be alright, that I know I will be."

Erik stood up and took her hand, helping her to her feet. It was the most intimate moment he had experienced in years. He bent down and kissed the back of her hand. Stepping back, he released her. "Good Evening, Madame."

Emily nodded almost shyly, "Good Night, Monsieur."


	9. Anything Amiss

_Never stand begging for that which you have the power to earn. _

_Miguel de Cervantes_

**Chapter Nine: Anything Amiss**

Emily spent Saturday with Sophie Robillard enjoying a walk along the river to a part of Rouen where shops clustered along a medieval street displayed some of the finest porcelains and lace in the city. Choosing a small tea room, they sat down and ordered refreshments.

"Emily, I want to know what Monsieur is like," Sophie asked. "You don't have to tell me anything that might get you into trouble with him, but I only know what Phillipe tells me."

"Well, I have conversed a bit with him of course; all of it is business though." She sat and thought for a moment. "M. Dugast said something interesting about him, that he is like a puppeteer; he pulls the strings for others. I can see that. It is as if he has already thought everything through and we are just playing the parts he wants us to."

Sophie frowned. "You mean he is just using everyone?"

"No. I think for him to 'use' someone he will make them into the tool he needs." At the confusion on Sophie's' face, Emily added, "For instance, I think he will prepare Phillipe to be ready to face what ever challenges are coming to him."

Sophie seemed to relax. "That is good; I know Phillipe works hard for him." She stopped and considered a moment. "What do you think of him personally?"

"I think he could be hard to deal with. He does have this air of command about him, he expects to be obeyed. I understand that he doesn't leave his home. That puts him in the position as well to have to rely on other people. I don't think he would give out his trust lightly."

"And the mask?" Sophie asked.

"That is hard to describe. I am sure it makes him the way he is. What ever he feels he needs to cover up must be why he has built this shell around himself. It covers half of his face and seems to be made of something soft, maybe leather. It is surprising, but you just get used to it being a part of him." Emily shrugged a shoulder. "He seems an attractive man otherwise."

"I don't mean to pry, but you are divorced. Are you happy this way?"

Emily smiled. "Oh Sophie, I am not happy this way. But that is the way it must be." As Sophie had never been married, Emily told her a little of what had happened and why she felt she would never re-marry.

At the end of the day Sophie invited Emily to stop by the house and meet her Mother. They also saw Phillipe who told Emily that Javier had arranged for a carriage to pick them up for the trip to Jumieges. At the last, Emily asked, "Can Sophie come with us?"

Sophie was surprised, but Phillipe said, "I don't see why not."

* * *

Erik worked in his study until his eyes grew tired. He moved over to his chair by the fireplace and picked up the Rouen paper. This was the first day that he had not had personal reports or the schedule of Emily Griggs to know where she was. He knew she would spend the day with Sophie Robillard and hoped that Phillipe would get her back to the hotel.

He still had a hard time believing that people would assume he had a mistress. As Emily had said, people liked a story or some bit of embellished gossip. It must be natural for some men to keep a woman, singly or in addition to a wife. He knew from listening in on people that not all marriages were happy.

Why had Emily divorced? How long did it take people to realize that it wasn't going to work? He knew not everyone got married for love, was that the case for Emily? He could not understand that, would not have attributed Emily with doing something so cavalier.

He thought of Christine. He had loved her for so long he did not even remember when it had begun. First as his student, his one point of contact with a human being who did not run away in horror of him. Then as he watched her mature, her body filling out into the soft curves of womanhood, he could remember wanting to share that exquisite and mysterious body. As she became accomplished, hanging on the every instruction of her Angel of Music, he began to maneuver her into the Opera's spot light. His creation, his beautiful Angel, the mate his soul longed for, moved onto center stage and into the arms of another man.

He watched her become confused; seeking the boys' arms rather than his. His anger had driven him to try to kill Roul. He had made other mistakes as well. He never told her his name, never took the time to build on the seduction. He never told her that he loved her until the end.

If he had the chance to start over, would he have been able to take her away from her lover? It was a question that tortured him because the answer was elusive after all his lonely days.

Could she like Persephone, descend into the underworld to live with her husband Hades, and then return to the living world again? What bargain would they strike to maintain a balance she could live with? Would she have born children to him, to grow in his eternal darkness? He had not allowed for that. He would want them safe and happy, living in the world above, able to enjoy the things he had been denied.

He sat in his comfortable home. In a way it was exchanging one prison for another. He had more freedom, he had people who he could rely upon, but he was always the one left behind alone. It took four years of clawing his way to this spot, to find some comfort and acceptance, to find the security he now enjoyed. What did he still want?

He loved Christine, he always would. She was inside him like the air he breathed. Although air was essential to life, it did not fill his arms. It did not wait for him, share with him or love him in return. The spirit of Christine would be there, he could feel her more acutely sometimes, and wonder if it was because she was thinking of him. She came to him in dreams as well. At first the dreams of despair, of having to let her go over and over again, then the dreams changed. As he had been her Angel of Music, she was becoming his Angel of Life. She helped shape his dreams into a pattern for him to follow to climb out of the darkness. She had come to him the other night, warning him of the danger to Emily.

He wished he could ask her, what now? Am I still the desperate man lost in darkness, or am I a man worth loving?

* * *

The trip to the village of Jumieges was blessed by the warmest day Emily had experienced since arriving in France. When they were out from the last part of Rouen, Emily had Javier pull off the road by a field. Alighting from the carriage, she told Phillipe to retrieve the pistols from under the seat. From the way he carried them, it was easy to see that Phillipe was going to have a hard time getting comfortable around them. She handed Javier and Phillipe each an unloaded colt and told them to follow her further into the field.

"There are three basic things you need to learn." Emily began. "First, you never pull one of these out unless you are ready to use it. Second, you should always stand so your body is turned away from the gun." She took Phillipe's colt and held it out in her right hand, turning her body so that he body faced away with her head turned in alignment to the gun. "This is so you present a smaller target. If the other person has a weapon, it will do you no good to get shot first." She took the pistol in her left hand, mimicking the grip with her right. "Third, you squeeze," she slowly drew her trigger finger closed, "never jerk. You will only make your shot go wild."

She handed the gun back to Phillipe, picked up a box of bullets and instructed them on how to load the gun. Once loaded she had them pick a target fairly close by, and instructed them on how to learn to sight the gun. As the first shots rang out, she glanced at Sophie who had covered her ears, but looked amazed at the spectacle of her brother actually firing a gun.

She assisted each of them with some things she noticed they would need to learn to shoot more accurately. As they returned to the carriage Emily asked Sophie, "Would you like to shoot it once?" She shook her head no, but looked at Phillipe. "Come on, Sophie! It's loud, but you should try it."

Javier handed her out of the carriage and gave her the pistol he carried. Taking a few steps away, Emily joined her and helped her steady her arm and told her to take a deep breath, slowly let it out and squeeze. The Colt jumped in Sophie's hand as it recoiled but she managed to hold on to it. "Oh my God, that was, well it was, it was loud, and it was…oh, it jumped and I nearly dropped it." Fanning her face Sophie handed it over to a smiling Javier.

The people of Jumieges turned out in the square, on all manner of carriage, wagon, cart, and horse. Bringing some simple tools and aprons, everyone pitched in to start the planting and clearing.

At the end of the afternoon tables were brought out from local shops and food began to be set out. A pig was roasted in the square and blankets were spread on the ground for everyone to sit on. After the meal the tables were cleared and a makeshift band was assembled, playing on the violin, and concertina. Dancing commenced along with drinking and it was not long before Javier came to ask Sophie to dance. Javier called to Phillipe who was chatting up a lovely looking girl from the village. "Phillipe! Help me here, Sophie says she can't dance!"

Sophie was blushing profusely and trying to get away from Javier, who had gripped her hand. "Oh no you don't," he said shaking a finger at her. "I know that anyone as pretty as you has to have danced before."

Sophie had seen how Javier had shamelessly flirted with all the women in the square, but it still made her feel wonderful that such a handsome man would care to dance with her. "Alright, but I'm not very good at it," she said quietly.

Javier stepped closer and smiled. "Querida, I will be happy to instruct you."

Emily watched the two of them together after that noticing how Javier had spent more time and attention on Sophie. Although he still flattered other women, he always came back to Sophie.

* * *

As they dropped off Phillipe and Sophie, Javier invited them as well as Emily to a dinner the next week at his parent's home. "My mother cooks the most amazing Paella this side of the Mediterranean." They finally all agreed to come and Javier took Emily back to her hotel.

As they pulled up to the front of the building Javier said, "I want to ask you something Emily. How are you getting along with the Monsieur?"

"Alright, I suppose. I haven't seen much of his infamous temper yet."

"Let me tell you this. I have known him longer than Phillipe, but still do not know his entire life story. I can't say if anyone does." He looked at her for a moment. "Be careful Emily. I think he would do anything to protect you. I just don't know if he can protect himself from you."

Emily was strangely touched by Javier's words. "Javier, I would be very flattered if he," she stopped not knowing how to say what was in her heart. "I can't though. I can't get married again."

"Emily, why, what happened to you?"

She did not know why she felt like telling him. "It's not what happened, it's what didn't happen." She paused then finally told him, "In six years of marriage I never had a baby. I don't think I can."

"And what if that didn't matter to him?"

"I don't know. There was a man who was interested in me after the divorce. He proposed rather quickly after we met, so I was forced at that point to tell him that I might not be able to have children. He was furious. He accused me of presenting myself as something other than what I really was." She wiped at her eyes. "That's Emily for you; I always have to learn the hard way."

Javier reached out and hugged her around the shoulders. "Take your time then Emily. He has waited this long, he will wait longer. See what happens, eh?" He gave her another hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, then got down from the carriage and helped her get her pistols.

As Javier drove the carriage away a shadow detached itself from the building at the end of the street and followed.

* * *

Javier entered Erik's house with his front door key. There was one small light in the hallway with which to make his way to the stairs. If Erik was still here, he would be in his study.

Knocking softly at the door, Javier waited a moment then opened the door slowly. The burning fire gave the only light in the room. From its small flames, light pierced the darkness and made grotesque giants of the shadow of the piano.

He glanced briefly at the desk. Hearing only the tick of the clock, he prepared to turn and leave when he heard Erik's voice. "I am here."

With his hand still on the door knob, Javier reported, "Just checking in to let you know we returned from the trip to Jumieges."

"And what did you find while you were there?" Erik asked in a flat voice.

"I didn't turn up anything new. I talked again to a few of the people who helped with the boat. I don't know if Phillipe got anything. He will be in of course, tomorrow morning."

"Of course, the morning," the voice repeated slowly.

Javier felt a chill moving down his back. Although there was no tone, no emotion to Erik's voice, he sensed there was something very wrong. He paused a moment. Erik did not speak again. Undecided, he finally had to ask, "Is there anything amiss?"

Erik stepped out of the shadows near the windows, startling Javier; he had though he was in the chair near the fire. He was dressed as Charles Martin, his one uncovered eye an eerie glowing gold in the light of the fire.

"Anything amiss?" Erik repeated, almost a whisper. The two men stood at opposite sides of the room. Javier waited for Erik to say something, anything that might tell him what had happened.

Finally Javier had to ask, "Erik, what is it?"

Erik moved out of the shadows. He paced casually over to the gas light near his chair and turned it up. Although the light was still weak, the sudden illumination made Javier blink. Growing tired of what ever mood Erik was in Javier finally spat, "Tell me what is wrong."

"Why don't you tell me about your trip?" Erik clasped his hands behind his back and started walking slowly passed the end of the couch to where Javier waited by the door.

"My friend, if there is something wrong just tell me. Don't circle around what ever it is that's bothering you."

"Bothering me," Erik echoed. He stopped still a moment.

Javier waited; Erik was once again a shadowy form with the light glowing behind him. Growing frustrated of this game, Javier blurted, "Damn it Erik, what is it?"

"Oh, you know, curiosity," Erik's voice was like silk. "Was there dancing, was there drinking, did Madame have a good time?"

The two men stood watching each other. Javier getting angrier at this play on words that Erik had begun. "Is it something to do with Emily? Have you found something out?"

He could almost hear the smile forming around Erik's reply. "Not as much evidently as you have Monsieur."

Javier knew instantly what was wrong. Erik had been there, somewhere. He grew tired of this game of intimidation. "What do you want to know?"

"To know," the voice repeated. "What can one tell another with one's lips?"

Javier knew then that Erik must have seen them talking in the carriage and the kiss he gave her. He planted his hands on his hips and leaned forward. "Erik, I have worked for you, and fought for you, spent days and nights on the river with you. But this," he paused raising a hand, "is not something that I can tell you." Javier saw the slight turn of his head and the movement of Erik's arms. He seem to be doing something with his hands in the darkness. "Erik, I mean it. If you want her, you have to go after her. You cannot rely on Phillipe and me to do it for you. You can't ask us to be parts of you in this." He paused, as he could see a movement and something appeared to sweep by, landing softly on the desk behind him.

Erik had flung the lasso onto the desk and turned away from the man who had been the closest thing to a brother he had in his life. The blinding anger he felt now draining out of him leaving a hollow space. "She said she was not available."

Javier relaxed a little; "She has a reason to say this. I can not tell you exactly why, because she will know that I told you and it will not go well for you." He paused to let Erik think on what he was saying.

Erik turned back to Javier, in a low voice he said, "I am not.." his hand slowly moved towards his mask.

Javier interrupted. "You have to talk to her. You can only offer who and what you are, if she finds she wants this, love will come. But you have to start by opening up your heart to her." Javier knew he had said enough. "I'll see you in the morning." He left quietly, leaving this strange man to his own thoughts.

Erik stood staring at the gas light. How could he tell her? He thought he could hear music in the distance.


	10. The Gray Earl

_There is no trouble so great or grave that cannot be much diminished by a nice cup of tea. _

_Bernard-Paul Heroux_

Chapter Ten: The Gray Earl

On Monday afternoon Emily met with Denis Chalin, the lawyer who had ordered one of the typewriters. Sitting across the desk from him she felt she was on trial. His intense dark eyes seemed to absorb every word, every mannerism, as if he was piecing together a complete picture of her in readiness to take before a judge. Although a little formal at first, he let Emily lead the conversation with enough terms to show she was well versed in the kind of work that a typewriter was best suited for.

"Madame, I work with two other partners. At this point we do not have the resources to have more than one of the machines as well as a full time typist yet" Denis informed her.

"I can understand that Monsieur. You will of course wish to try out the machine to see if it will be an asset that will pay for the investment you make in it. May I suggest something to you?"

"Certainly, Madame" he replied with a careless gesture.

"Do you hire legal aides? Possibly young law students or assistants, who are working their way through school," she asked.

"Yes, of course. The work they do prepares them to practice law."

"Would it not be expedient then for some of these assistants to become your typists? With some basic training they could start to copy your most recent case files, and if time permitted work on also copying over older files? In that way all of your files will be transcribed, they can be filed as they are finished, and your students have a greater exposure to your cases."

Denis Chalin smiled, "You are very good at this Madame Griggs. Did you ever wish to study law?"

* * *

After Emily left the law office, she took a cab to a local office that Phillipe had recommended that took care of rental properties. Emily found three that were centrally located and appeared to be within the amount of money she could afford to spend for more permanent lodgings.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon, a list in hand and a cab waiting as she quickly darted in and out of buildings for an apartment. One was her dream come true, well lit, in a quiet building with a small balcony, but it had already been taken. The rest proved unsuitable.

Going back to the hotel, she once again greeted the concierge and retrieved her messages. When he asked politely about her day, she gave a rather tired, unladylike snort and told him how much fun she had on a whirlwind tour of properties. He commiserated with her, and told her not to give up looking, something would turn up.

As she entered her room, she realized one of the notes she had in her hand was not a sealed envelope, but a folded up piece of paper. She opened her door, dropping her bag and hat onto the bed and sat down to read the note.

The boat was a mistake.

Emily felt a chill move through her, bringing goose bumps in its wake. Who ever had written the note, had hastily scrawled it in English rather than French.

* * *

Emily stopped by a small shop and picked up two oranges, slipping them into her bag, she intended to have them if she missed lunch because she had a busy day planned. She had already been to M. Dugast' office and Eustache Vaudry's home in the morning. Now, shortly before noon, she arrived at the door step of Monsieur De La Shaumette's home.

Etienne answered the door and ushered her into the parlor. "I'm sorry to stop in on such short notice, but I need to arrange to see Monsieur" she told him.

"If you will have a seat Madame, I shall see about getting you an appointment."

Emily stopped him as he turned towards the stairs, "Would it be alright if I said hello to Agnes?"

"Of course, Madame, she is in the dining room."

Upstairs, Erik invited Etienne in after he heard a knock. "Monsieur, Madame Griggs has stopped by and asked to schedule an appointment with you."

Erik sat back from his desk and looked at the clock, it was just going eleven. "Send her up, please. You may leave the door open."

As Etienne trod down the stairs, a thrill of edginess passed through him. This was the first time she had come to see without any invitation on his part. He had no time to organize his thoughts. He had gotten up late, and as such was not dressed as he usually was. No cravat, no vest, his top button undone. Gently running a finger along the edge of his mask he checked to see if it was secure.

A moment later Emily entered the room, "I am sorry to disturb you like this" she said by way of greeting.

Erik arose from his chair, "A pleasure as always Madame, will you take a seat?" He noticed she was wearing a simple dress that had small printed flowers on it. She must be conducting visits to people again, as her attire looked more casual. At least he wasn't the only one adopting a relaxed air today.

"Someone left this in my messages at the hotel last night" Emily offered him the note. She waited until he opened it, "It is written in English, it says 'The boat was a mistake'."

Alert, he rose from his chair again and went to the window, holding up the paper to the light. He then folded it closed, and re-opened the paper. Turning it over in his hands front to back he asked "Do they remember who left this?"

"No, I retrieved it from the concierge; it might have been put in my box at any time by one of the other employees or even a maid." She watched him as he paced across the room, looking at the paper as if he could will it to speak.

"As the staff receives the messages, do they stack them on top of one another?"

Emily though of the times she had seen someone behind the desk putting envelopes into the slots for the rooms. "Yes, I think so."

"So, we could assume, if it were given to someone to put into your box, that it's positioning would imply the time of day. He stopped again before the window. "Does Madame know what time of day the mail is delivered to your hotel?"

"Yes, it usually comes after noon, closer to two o'clock."

"Were there any letters from the post in your messages below this note?"

Emily sat back in her chair, in her mind replaying her steps to her room, unlocking the door and tossing things on the bed. She remembered sitting on the bed and taking a quick look at the messages. "The posted letters were on top of the note" she finally remembered.

"You say this is in English. Is there anything unusual about the words?"

"No, nothing that might indicate a Frenchman writing in another language if that is what you imply. It is a very basic sentence."

"So our author did get the note to the hotel before two o'clock. Once again in conjecture, how many people know English?" Emily did not reply as he seemed to be making a statement rather than asking a question. "What meeting did you have yesterday?"

"In the afternoon I saw Denis Chalin at his office. I then spent the remainder of the day looking at properties. The morning was mine; I spent it replying to Remington's letters, and an invitation to bring my typewriter to a local school next week."

"I shall return in a moment." With that, he left her to wait in the study. While Emily waited she looked at the bookshelves behind the desk, the differently bound leather spines looking like a serendipitous arrangement of ribbons. She got up and walked around behind the desk to look at the book titles. From the wide variety of subjects covered by the books, he must have quite a range of interests.

He had arranged them in groups by their subjects it appeared. One shelf featured scientific subjects, another had titles about mechanics. There were a few at the opposite end that were about artists, and few that were about music or composers. Looking at the bottom shelf closest to the desk, he had placed what would be his reference books, on business, and what looked to be a new book. Turning her head to read the printing along the spine she saw that it was a French to English dictionary. Emily grinned. From now on she would have to watch what she said in her own tongue; evidently he was bothered by her lapse into English the other evening.

She turned and went back to the chair. Looking at the opposite end of the room, she had the chance to take in the dimensions of the grand piano. She looked at the desk, the chair and sofa, then back to the piano. Glancing at the windows and door she wondered how on earth an instrument as large as that could have possibly been brought into a second floor room. As she sat down she thought, maybe he was a magician; he could wave a hand and make it transport itself.

A few minutes later, he returned to the study, and to his chair. He dropped the paper in front of him on the desk. "It is common enough paper, with no watermarks; it is not from a stationer, rather a common stock item that might be used in a business office. As Madame probably knows, most people make their own home ink. This ink appears to be a combination of a gum fixative and Elderberry. See how the color has changed" he indicated where he had wet the ink, drawing it out slightly leaving a trail of purple. "Most home inks are made of coal, bootblack or Elderberry. With this in mind, the note must have come from a residence rather than an office."

"I see what you are saying" she conceded, "but why would they send that information to me?"

"That is a question with several possibilities as well." He paused for a moment; shifting in his chair he rubbed his chin with one finger. He gave her a speculative look, "Would Madame care or a cup of tea?"

Emily blinked in surprised. "Certainly" she agreed.

Erik got up and left the study again. He moved quickly down the stairs and stuck his head inside the kitchen, "Agnes, could you make a cup of tea for Madame and me, and send some lunch up now?"

"Of course, Monsieur" she replied. "I'll send it right up with Etienne."

As Erik headed back upstairs, he wondered how Emily took her tea and hoped that Agnes would remember from the night she arrived. He swept back into the study, and sat down moving his chair a little away from the desk. He sat with his legs outstretched and his ankles crossed, slouching a little, his finger rubbing his chin again. Emily watched him as he seemed to be more relaxed, he must be still mentally working on the note.

As she sat quietly waiting, she noticed that she was becoming painfully aware of how many times people touched their faces. Since she had met him and seen the mask, she tried not to rub her nose, rest her face in one hand, or make any motions that touched her face. She also refrained from adjusting her ear rings, or smoothing her hair.

Sitting as they were she used the moment to surreptitiously look him over. He was a mature man; some small lines creased the corners of his eyes. Whether due to age or luck of birth, he didn't seem to have grey hairs mixed in with his darker ones. His features were even and well formed. She glanced at the desk, and wondered about the mask. She didn't want him to come out of his thoughts and find her staring at it.

There was a knock at the door, and Erik invited in Etienne who entered bearing a tray. Sitting it on the desk, Etienne smiled at Emily and said "We made the gray earl for you."

Noting the glance Erik directed at her, she explained, "He means 'Earl Grey' it is the name of a tea from England. I brought some for Agnes to try."

This was interesting. Evidently Emily was accepting the people around him as if she had always been one of them. She seemed to engender a comfortable feeling in everyone she dealt with. He wondered if that was why Remington had sent her, because her true strength lay in her ability to make people at ease. As he thought about her, he wanted to know what her failings were. There had to something she was lacking in.

Etienne sat the tray on the desk, placing their cups before them, and setting out two small plates along with a larger plate that was stacked with small finger sandwiches. He left the room with Erik shutting the door behind him.

Emily picked up her tea and drew in a whiff of the spicy steam rising from her cup. She tipped it and took a sip of the tea. She still had her two oranges, but the small sandwiches now looked very tempting. And as long as he was going to sit back and enjoy one, she thought she would indulge as well.

She watched over the rim of her cup as he reached over and took one of the sandwiches off the plate. He had nice hands as well, long fingered and quite elegant in their movements. She wondered if he played the piano often, and how fluid his hands would move over the keys. Or anything else he chose to touch with them.

She dropped back into the habit of talking out loud in English "Get your mind busy on something else girl before you start blushing." Erik turned to her with an inquiring look. "Ah, just thinking" she quickly recovered.

With an elegant lift of his eye brow he asked "Do you always talk out loud to yourself, Madame?"

"I don't know" she said truthfully. "If I do it only seems noticeable because I don't do it in French." She enjoyed this quiet interlude with him, but felt she should steer him back to the note. "Have you any more information from Phillipe or Javier from the trip yesterday, anything that might add to this note?"

He shook his head and took a drink from his cup. "Nothing we did not know already. There doesn't seem to be a definite trail leading anywhere."

"Except what you mentioned about this man, Jules Gaultier?"

"Yes. But truthfully I can not find a reason for him to jeopardize our relationship with something as overtly destructive as the damage to the boat."

A thought formed in her mind, and she voiced it, "You know, when I first arrived I was talking to Georges Dugast, and he said you were like a magician, that you directed the attention elsewhere. What if that is what is happening here?" She had his interest now, so she continued. "What if there was another party in this, and they thought that an attack on you would bring you to the conclusion that Gaultier would be the one to have a reason to cause it?"

"And they believe they can keep us both busy distrusting each other?" he added. It was a theory he had been entertaining as well. "Not only would it 'direct the attention' as you say, but make for bad dealings between us. With Gaultier having the larger boat built, he may want to sell off his smaller boats. I would be interested in buying them, if I have the resources at that point."

"And if you and he are no longer on good terms, it would make the sale more difficult?"

"Possibly. It could be that the attack on the boat was an error. Or they have realized that Javier was getting close to finding out who they are, and are waiting for another opportunity."

'And the note, by way of apology, to say 'sorry, we didn't mean to threaten anyone'."

"I pray it is so. Damage to property is bad enough, but putting my employees in danger is quite another." His voice could have dripped acid. He was clearly not used to being challenged, and took it personally.

His words echoed back to her 'my employees'. Well, there you have it she thought; so much for her silly romantic fantasy. Even Javier must be mistaken, she was just another employee.


	11. My Husband William

_The thing that makes you exceptional, if you are at all, is inevitably that which must also make you lonely. _

_Lorraine Hansberry_

Chapter Eleven: My Husband William

His words echoed back to her 'my employees'.

Well, there you have it; so much for her silly romantic fantasy. Even Javier must be mistaken, she was just another employee. Emily felt she needed to leave. She turned making a show of checking the time on the mantel clock, "I thank you for the lunch, but I must be on my way."

Erik rose to his feet "Thank you for bringing the note for me." He offered it back to her, and she took it and placed it in her bag. It gave her another excuse not to look him in the eye. She felt so inept, so suddenly a gawky country born girl again.

He wanted her to stay. He had taken into his heart Javier's words in the darkness. How he and Phillippe could not help him in this. He knew next to nothing of talking to a woman. Agnes was an employee, a servant. Madame Giry had been practically a sister figure, keeping his secrets. Christine was the only one he had shared a connection with through the music.

He had traded with other women along the river; shop girls, prostitutes, or one of the crews' wives. Some had been kind, once they got over their initial fear of him. But it was always there in their eyes, the rejection, the unease, and the fascination with the mask not the man. She had been the first to look at him differently.

His thoughts raced for something else to say to her and remembered the comment about being a magician. "Why did M. Dugast call me a magician?"

Emily had gotten out of her chair and almost reached the door when he spoke. "Oh, that was the next day after I arrived. He wanted to know about you, he said you had not met face to face."

"And what did Madame tell them?" he genuinely wanted to know.

"I told him that your servants were most helpful, that you had a comfortable home, and that I didn't get to converse with you very long that night."

"And the others you have conversed with since you arrived?"

"Mostly the same thing," she stopped with a slight narrowing of her eyes, "what do you wish them to know?"

Erik shook his head, "There is nothing to know."

A part of her brain screamed 'Liar'. There had to be a lot of history behind a man who wore a mask, no, two masks. He must be distancing himself from one life to move into another, but why? Was he hiding from a past, or changing himself into what the other man could not be. Hadn't she gone through almost the same change? From a country kid who chased her siblings through fields of tall corn, to the business woman who had crossed an ocean?

In a low voice he added, "You never ask, Madame."

"We pursue business together, to ask would be personal." His eyes bored into hers, she added "You never ask either."

"What do people ask?"

"They want to know about the divorce." She glanced down at the desk, how much more could she say. "The rules of society don't apply to me as they do most women. Since I have been married, I am allowed more freedom then if I was inexperienced. I stand on a perceived line between to states of being, and choose which actions are best suited to my situation. That intrigues people." She gestured around the room "If I were an unmarried girl, I could not be in this room alone with you."

He would never view her as a 'girl'. Christine had been young, poised on the edge of womanhood. Emily was definitely a woman. Where Christine was ethereal, she was more of the earth. Her femininity was a siren's call to the masculine in him. Beyond the desire for sex, what was it about a woman's body that made a man want to grab on to those lush hips and pull her close, to revel in the soft, warm feel of their bodies.

Emily opened the door, "Well, thank you again and good afternoon Monsieur." She felt like a coward trying to distance herself from him as quickly as possible.

As she walked towards the hotel, she thought again about the night when he had said her name, and kissed her hand. You are such an idiot, Emily. Things just have to hit you over the head don't they? Frenchmen were renowned for being lovers; he was probably doing what every other one of his countrymen would have.

She was still hoping someone would fall in love with her for who she was, not what society said she should be. She was everything she was not supposed to be. Not that her family had not tried to prepare her for womanhood. There were piano lessons, and needlework along with the farm chores and care of the house. She could cook and sew but she could also shoot, butcher an animal, and fix broken things.

While her sister Vivian had made lovely dresses, and fancy doilies, Emily had darned clothes and patched the worn spots in her dresses and aprons. When there was money Vivian had bought ribbons, hair combs and jewelry. Emily had spent hers on books and a photo album for pictures she was collecting. When friends came over, Vivian made them tea and sat in the front parlor and talked. Emily had wandered around the barn or the fields, looking at trees and birds, or the rare moments when she could catch a snake off guard and wonder at its colored camouflage. Her sister had gone in the summer to visit other relatives; Emily had gone to her Grandfather's house.

When her brother had told her she was a 'freak', Emily became aware of the gap between her and the way the world wanted her to be. She tried harder to fit in. As she grew into her teenage years and boys became more interesting, her father had told her "Emily I want you to marry someone educated. Look for a man who can make a better life for you. One who will find the value in you."

The year that she met her husband William, she had gone with Vivian to visit a family in town. They introduce William to Emily, and it seemed that he was everything she was hoping to find. He was educated, and had just taken a job for the Remington Company in New York State. He was to be one of their salesmen. Looking back, she did not know what he saw in her, but he expressed interest in seeing her again. He had visited several times to the farm and one evening had asked her Father for her hand in marriage. Her Father had confirmed with her that this was what she wanted, and agreed that they could wed.

Like all newly weds, they were new to each other. William was delighted to introduce her to others as his charming little country wife. He picked out her dresses, and told her how to wear her hair. He even coached her on the proper etiquette for dinners and visiting.

The couple spent money on clothing for both of them. William had said, "I can't look professional in a cheap suit." So when things got lean, Emily agreed to take a job at the factory. When she began to work with the typewriters, William told her it was time for her to leave the factory and go for another job, his wife could no longer be a common factory worker, and she needed a job with more status.

William had arranged for her to work as a typist for a local lawyer. As the legal terms became more familiar, Emily had shared what she learned with her husband. At some point she had failed to notice his questions about her days at the law firm became more pointed. He wanted to know how cases turned out and what kind of settlements the lawyers were pressing to achieve.

As Emily became aware of this, she noticed other changes in her marriage. William seemed curter with her in public. He complained that she was not being friendly enough or that she had chosen the wrong subject to discuss with other guests. He finally told her she had to stay home and that he would do the entertaining of prospective clients that came into town. He required more of their cash, and he wanted to purchase a carriage.

As he did more traveling, he had little time for her. He complained of being tired when they went to bed. Since she had never conceived, Emily started to think that not having children was the cause of the strife. Vivian was now married with one child and another on the way. Taking the chance, she asked him again if there was anything she could do to repair their marriage, if the childlessness was part of their strife. "You're being stupid Emily," he threw at her "I don't need little brats hanging on to your skirts; I need a wife who will support me in my career!"

For another year Emily did the best she could to be the wife he demanded she be. Until the day he finally came and told her he needed to know what the lawyer she worked for was doing on a case against one of his clients. Emily was genuinely shocked that he would ask, and knew that she could be compromising the trust of that lawyer. She flatly refused to tell him. It was then she realized her worth as his wife was draining away. She had no place other than to be a useful tool for him to use.

He had railed at her that she was ruining his career; he left and did not return that night. The next day Emily went to her employer and told him what had happened, begging to keep her job. He agreed to keep her and told her to be smart and go get what things she considered hers in the flat and find another place to stay. She did so, packing up what she could use and letting the land lady sell off the rest. She left Williams' things packed in their small sitting room and locked the door behind her.

Finding a room mate from her days at the factory, she moved into a miserable little apartment with three other women. She cried herself to sleep until she had drained herself of any of the emotion she still held for her husband. She filed for a divorce through her employer, and a year later for the position in France. He had wisely advised her to keep her married name.

When she had been accepted by Remington, she made one last trip home. She dreaded having to look her Father in the eye after being the first person to divorce in the family. He had hugged her hard and told her that she had to keep trying, that a man was out there that would love her for the woman she was. She had come to France on a whim, hoping she would fit in better with enlightened Europeans.

As she reached the hotel, she checked her messages and went upstairs. Kicking off her shoes she curled up on the bed hugging her pillow. "I never asked because I wear my own mask, Monsieur" she said. Emily the confident, Emily the professional, Emily the happy, friendly little American, Emily the employee. She hugged the pillow harder and wept.

**A/N** **Congats to the Grads and Happy Summer!** This was an 'Emily' chapter. The sparks fly between them next chapter. It's called 'Obey Me'…can you guess why?


	12. Obey Me

_My role in this family is to provide for and protect my wife and children. They are expected to do as I ask._

_Victorian Husband_

**Chapter Twelve: Obey Me**

"Have you seen Hugette Pinson's latest column?" Erik put down his pen and took the paper that Phillipe offered. Once again there was another picture of Emily Griggs. This week it was taken at one of the colleges in the city. Last week it was with Vincente Juin who was a respected surgeon and educator with one of Rouen's more exclusive hospitals. The week before had featured her in Denis Chalin's legal office.

All of the exposure she was gaining through the newspaper had succeeded in generating more orders for the Remington typewriters making everyone very happy; except Erik. Emily was successfully carrying out her job as she was contracted to do, but for the last three weeks, between her work and her moving out of the hotel he had not seen her.

He directed Phillipe to sit down and began going over stipulations he wanted added to future contracts from one of mills when Javier arrived. Rapping lightly at the door he came in when Erik answered.

"Phillipe, Monsieur, there has been another incident." Erik waved him into a chair and Javier produced a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "There was a fight at a Paris bar that involved several members of one of our crews." He handed Erik a scribbled copy of the Paris police report.

Erik read it aloud for Phillipe's benefit, "There were at least three men detained; one who had had to have some stitches done by a local doctor. According to the bar tender and several other witnesses these three men were set upon after they left the bar by a group of men. As the gendarmes arrived, the other group of men scattered, but witnesses at the scene indicated these men were from a local warehouse. Their employer will be fined for the doctors' bill." He paused and added, "The bill will be paid by Jules Gaultier's office."

"I don't believe it" Phillipe put in, "it has been over a month since the boat damage, and now trouble from a group of men who are employed under Jules Gaultier."

Javier added, "It's just too convenient."

Erik sat back and rested his chin on one closed fist, "Agreed, the men who did this might have been hired by anyone. It seems to our adversaries that there were not enough clues left behind from the note and the damage to the canal boat. They now want to assure that our energy will be focused on M. Gaultier."

Directing the attention, as Emily had said of him when she had said he was described as a magician? Erik smiled. He laid out what he wanted them to do.

* * *

When someone knocked at her door, Emily had only just sat down her satchel and was looking through her mail. She dropped the letters on small table near the door, and opened it to find Javier smiling, holding out a note. 

"Hello, Javier. What's in the note?" she asked looking at it dubiously.

"Now Emily, you know he doesn't tell me such things! If he did I would just come over and tell you in person. Besides, I have a cab waiting downstairs. You are to go directly to the house." He looked over her shoulder and waved "Hello Perrine, looking lovely as always I see."

Emily's roommate stopped in the small sitting area, "I'm curling my hair for an evening at the theater I'll have you know."

"Ha, waste of money." He adopted his most charming smile "I'll tell you a story that will keep you interested all night." He affected a sly wink to go with his speech.

"_¡ Madre del dios!,_ it must be my brother!" Olivia Fernandez came up the stairs behind Javier and pinched his arm. "Stay away from my room mates!"

"Hey, just trying to pay a pretty lady a compliment, Livy" he replied. "Anyway, I am here to steal Emily away from you."

Emily retrieved her bag, "I'll worry about dinner when I get back." She followed Javier downstairs. As they walked to the cab he asked "Come over to the house this weekend with Livy, I'm asking Phillipe and Sophie over again, we all want to check up on you." He held the door and helped her enter the cab.

"Why" she asked puzzled.

"Because Madame has not visited the house," he closed the door and leaned on it. "And he has had some bad days. Are you avoiding him?"

Emily shook her head, "not on purpose."

"But not accidentally either" he asked.

"Really, I don't have a reason to stop in. He hasn't asked for another meeting."

He was watching her eyes as she spoke, "It's hard for him to ask Emily. You should understand that about him. Whatever it is that has made him like this, he has fought hard to construct a normal life. He still feels a prisoner to that thing" he drew a circle over one side of his face.

She looked at him for a moment. A part of her wanted to distance herself from what he was saying, while another part wanted to embrace it. She nodded her assent, "We'll have to see what he says." He tapped on the side of the cab, with the jingling of the harnesses, the horses started moving.

* * *

Emily stopped before the study door; she had told Etienne she would go up alone. She smoothed down the front of her dress wishing she could calm the nervous feeling in her stomach. Closing her eyes, she wrapped on the door. She heard his voice through the door, and then turned the handle. He was standing by the window as she entered.

Erik turned and walked toward her, it gave him a moment to compose his greeting and take in how she looked. "Madame," he said, "thank you for coming on such short notice." He motioned her towards one of the desk chairs.

"Javier brought your note just as I was arriving home."

"And how is your arrangement with your roommates coming along," he inquired.

"It's going very well. I like the girls, and the apartment is in a nice part of town."

"You manage to receive your messages all right at this building?"

"Yes, although they have slowed down considerably now that everyone is getting settled in with their machines. I did have one incident, Francoise Desloges' ribbon started to tear and I had to stop at her residence to change it for her. She's the novel writer if you remember."

"Of course," he said faltering a moment. He wanted to carry on the pleasantries, but needed to change the subject. "I wanted to let you know that we have had another incident."

Emily tracked him as he paced before the windows of the study. It was still bright outside, and the light through the lace curtains gave glowing edges to his shape. "What has happened?"

He told her of the incident in Paris, and of the evidence that came to them. "I do feel that this is once again a ruse. The fact that Jules Gaultier was sent the bill for the doctor makes it far too obvious." He moved to the edge of the desk and took the chair that sat next to hers. "Javier and I are going down river to Paris. Phillipe will stay here and carry on as usual. Agnes and Etienne will also. No one is to guess that I am not here in Rouen."

"And what am I to do?" she asked.

"I want you to drop by the house for the next three days, not only to keep up appearances, but so that you can check in with Phillipe." He sat forward in the chair and placed a hand on the arm of hers. "This was a planned attack. Someone wishes to continue the game. While I am gone, I don't want you to take any chances with your own safety."

"But if it appears that you are still here, why would they try to bother me again? Aren't you being overly cautious?"

He was so close to her that she could feel the faint tension in him. "They could have cost you your life, Madame." He got to his feet and moved to the windows again, "I don't want you taking any chances." He stopped and turned toward her. "I do not want you going out in the evenings by yourself again unless you are accompanied by Phillipe." He crossed his arms over his chest and took a step closer. "I don't want you to walk anywhere, you will take a carriage or a cab, in this way there will be a man with you at all times."

Emily felt the muscles in her jaw tighten, this was like being home with her Father telling her she couldn't go anywhere without a man. "How is that suppose to help?" she said testily in English.

Erik's brows went down. "What did you just say."

Emily lifted a hand, "I was saying how is that supposed to help? Phillipe will be taken away from his duties and some cab driver is going to charge me a fortune to wait during my appointments."

"I will make sure that Phillipe takes care of the charges for the cab!" His voice was getting louder. By the mulish set of her mouth, he knew Emily was not going to do as he directed.

"I don't think I would be any safer," she said.

"Why not," he demanded.

"If I'm on my feet I have a chance to get away, and if I get into a cab then they just slam the door and urge the horses on and I am stuck." What on earth was he thinking? "I am not stupid enough to attempt to jump out of a moving cab." From the arrogant set of his lips she knew he must be getting angry.

"This attack was carried out by a group of men in a populated area. With your work taking you to various places in the city, you would make a convenient target. Since you do not have a man with you during your appointments, you can at least have one with you in your traveling to prevent any attempts while you move about," he retorted.

"I don't want to rely on a man. I can take care of myself," she reminded him. Hadn't she proved that in her travels over the last four months?

"Madame," he said almost smiling around her title, "you cannot hope to acquit yourself physically against a man. You do not posses the strength for that," he told her in exaggerated patience.

Emily frowned. "I know, but I'd try! Ask my brother. He and I tried to kill each other several times. We've both got the scars to prove it," she crossed her arms under her breasts.

Erik's face lost all expression. He tried again. "Madame, you can not hope to defend yourself. I am only concerned for your safety." She opened her mouth to interrupt him but he over road her comment in a louder voice, "Devil take it, I am instructing you to obey my orders!"

Emily got to her feet, "I'm not going to argue with you." With every retort it was obvious his temper was slipping farther, she really did not know him well enough to guess where it would stop. An angry man could be frightening.

"Excuse me, Madame?" His voice had adopted the rough purr that he had spoken with on there first meeting. "I do not recall asking for your opinions on my decisions; I have told you what you will do in my absence."

Annoyed, Emily moved behind the chair so that it was positioned between them. She heard the condescension in his voice. "That's just like a man. First you start laying down what you want. Then you start getting louder, next you'll be shaking a fist at me and yelling even more orders."

Erik looked at her as if she had sprouted antlers. "What are you talking about? I am telling you all this for your own good! You will not go anywhere unescorted until I return." He caught himself before he raised a hand to point a finger at the little vixen.

"I'm not staying here for you to continue yelling at me." She added in a reasonable voice "When you can be civil you can _suggest_ what you want me to do." She walked to the door and snatched it open.

The room turned red before Erik's eyes. She had played that trick the first night in Rouen, she wasn't about to get the last word again. He covered the distance to the door in a few strides, "Perhaps Madame does not understand the word _obey_" he thundered. As she looked over her shoulder at him, he grabbed the door handle on the backside of the door, holding it so that she could not pull it closed. He added in a silky voice "Perhaps your American husband did not teach you how."

Emily stopped and turned fully to face him. He had succeeded in pushing her from exasperation to anger. From the expression on her face Erik wished for the first time in his life that he could have bitten his tongue to keep from speaking.

"That was poorly done, Monsieur." She spoke slowly, "Emily was always the good little girl. I was taught to _obey_ my husband, and I did. Right up until he wanted information from me regarding the lawyers I worked for."

She stepped out onto the landing, her eyes as she looked back at him were strangely flat, and devoid of all emotions he had seen in them before. "That's when I said 'no'. And it is also when I said goodbye."

He took a step towards her so that they were almost touching. "We are not finished yet," he said in a soft voice.

She could see in his expression that he knew he had done wrong to speak to her in that way, but he was not going to apologize. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, neither one betraying their thoughts. He wasn't going to relent.

"We check your apartment at night to make sure that you have returned," he admitted. "It was easier when you were at the hotel; the staff was on hand to do it."

"You paid the staff to watch over me?" she asked in surprise.

He replied haughtily, "Madame, I _own_ the hotel."

It was all so apparent, she couldn't believe that she hadn't put it together before this. Putting her up in a hotel would be a simple case of using one of his resources to the fullest. She started laughing at the absurdity of how obvious it should have been to her. She leaned against the wall and continued laughing till her side hurt.

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to stop. What was so funny about that? "American sense of humor," he muttered.

"Darlin' you aren't responsible for me," she chided gently.

He wanted to shout. He wanted to shake her. But her amusement had diffused both of their anger.

"I'll take the cabs," she conceded, "and I'll check in with Phillipe." She started towards the stairs. "You could just tell me these things you know."

"Women," he muttered. "I just tried to tell her for the last half hour!" As he stalked back into the study he wondered what exactly a 'Dar-lenn' was. He'd have to find it in his dictionary.


	13. Rabbits

Chapter Thirteen: Rabbits

His deft fingers tickled the keys, Mozart's music felt frivolous and carefree. The last of the traffic in the street in front of his study was thinning out, the repetitive clop of the horses' hooves and the sounds of the carriage wheels rumbling along the cobblestones starting to fade in the distance. After dusk set he would make his way to the river.

The lamps were lit inside the _Erebus_, reflecting off the water. The sound of his footsteps reverberated on the dock as he stepped over onto the boat's deck. Erik entered the cabin and nodded a greeting to his assistant.

"Not taking anything with you" Javier asked, noting his lack of a bag.

"I'm not going, you are. I have a little more spice to add to the dish. Phillipe will be here to check on Madame Griggs and the others; you will go on to Paris." He handed him several large Franc notes "spend some time at the bars, with the police, whatever you think will generate a little more talk. Take at least two days, and then return to me." He went outside, pulling off the mooring ropes for the boat, "Take me to the dock near Rue de Lessard, and drop me off."

"All right, what are you planning to do?"

"You don't use a bear trap to catch a rabbit. Since we don't know the nature of our prey; I'm going to try to find a few rabbits."

He made his way quietly up the alleys until he reached the street where Denis Chalin's Legal Office was. From his pocket he took out a basic key and a pick. He knelt by the key hole, inserting the key. Taking a slow breath, he turned the key slowly several times. At a quarter turn is where this lock actually moved the pins to open the latch. Using the pick he began to feel which of the pins were set in the lock, he adjusted the pressure on the key and moved the pick inside along the top of the locking pins, back and forth until he could leave all the pins set and the pressure from the blank key would open the latch. With a click, it released and the door swung open.

Striking a lamp, he walked through the outer office where the legal assistants did their work. There were presently four desks, all at least four feet high, with the tops tilted for ease of the writer. Each one had a stool for the assistant. None of the desks had anything left on them but did have ink wells, the Remington itself sat on a larger desk that had been added to the room.

Along two of the walls were the case files all stored in the old ledger style books, and at the end of one shelf were the pigeon holed arrangement where the days incoming mail and papers were sorted for Chalin and his two partners.

He carefully removed the stacks from each cubby, turning them upside down so that as he read them over he could put them one on the other so the stack was in the same order. Glancing quickly over the various papers, he found none that had any reference to the typewriters or any notations in other languages. When he was done with them, he moved over to the old desk that held the Remington.

Going through the drawers, he extracted a sheet of paper to be his sample; he would go through all the inkwells in the offices and write a separate line on the paper for a sample of the inks. He turned surveying the room. Human beings were creatures of habit. They tended to put things they used in fairly obvious places. Although the desk was quit old the large bottom drawers were locked, he would find the key.

He walked around the room lifting objects and feeling along sills and ledges under the desks until he found the key for the old desk. Opening the drawer he found a stack of very dusty papers, including two architectural drawings folded up that must have been for older cases. There were also papers with several different names on them which appeared to be legal assistants. He closed and relocked the drawer and put the key back where he had found it.

He continued into the front hall from the main door and looked through coat pockets that were left on the hall tree. There was also a pair of umbrellas in a stand next to the door. Continuing on he found a small area at the back of the hall that had a cabinet with a coffee pot sitting on it and a number of cups. He looked under the cabinet, and walked on until he found what they used for a sink to get water.

So far, only the inks might be a clue, he went through all the desks, writing a line in the paper he took from the old desk. Taking it back to the sink and wetting a finger, he smeared a little of each ink, checking it by the lamp to see if any of them changed color. None left a tell tale smear of purple from Elderberry. As he had suspected the note was not written here.

Going to Chalin's office he started reading down the spines of the ledgers from the bookcase near the desk. Finding the labels that indicated his business and the dates earlier in the year, he found the papers for the contracts for the typewriters. He found a copy of the customs forms for the United States and England. Annotations were made on the documents in a language other than French, along with the initials "GC". He replaced the documents and closed the bookcase.

He crumpled the paper with the ink samples and put it in his pocket. He sat the lamp back in its place, and exited the office, locking the door. The initials "GC" matched the name Giles Charbonneau from papers in the old desk. He now had a name to put to the writer of Emily's note, a writer who was well aware of the scheduled arrival of the typewriters.

* * *

Emily kept busy and dutifully stuck to her promise to take cabs at night. She received a letter from the Remington representative in London, and was making arrangements to meet in the Belgian city of Brussels to pitch the import of the typewriter. She wasn't strictly employed by De La Shaumette, but felt it was better if he knew that she would be out of the country for at least a week.

Arriving at the house, she stuck her head into the kitchen and chatted with Agnes for a few minutes until Etienne came to fetch her to the study. Entering, she found the Monsieur was sitting at his desk with Phillipe standing by. He gave her no greeting, but indicated the chair opposite him at the desk.

Finally dismissing Phillipe, Erik sat back and waited for him to leave the study. "Madame, how have you been?"

"I have been doing well." It was a formality of sorts, but she asked "and you?"

"I am kept busy. What is it you needed to see me about?"

"I have the signatures for two additional imports" she said dropping the papers on his desk. "I also have another person interested as well."

"Very good, that brings us up to an even ten machines. We can be making plans to have them shipped soon."

She gave him a direct look "If I get you two additional people interested, can we up the number to fifteen?"

Erik pursed his lips in thought. The signed contracts meant that the people had already paid for their machines. "Only if you get them to sign now, that would leave me to carry the cost of the three remaining machines."

They sat in silence for a moment. She noticed his eyes held that impersonal distant look he could adopt, as if his body was before you, but his thoughts were far away. She remembered Javier mentioning him 'having bad days' and wondered if this was one of them. He spoke abruptly, "Anything else you wish to discuss?"

"I am going to meet with the Remington representative from England. He has been asked to pitch the importation of the machines there, and I will act as his interpreter. We will be going to Brussels in August. We plan to take trains and meet there, and will be in meetings for the better part of a week."

"I see, you have dealt with this representative before?"

"Yes, he preceded me across the Atlantic by two months. I stopped during the trip over and spent a few days with him."

Erik felt his jaw tighten. Emily always seemed to have friends everywhere. For a woman who was 'not available' she had just told him of another male acquaintance. With the human race composed of male and female he should expect his luck to travel in the direct of a male friend. "Why not use one of the canal boats, we run up the river to Belgium quite frequently." If nothing else, he could assure that she was safe up to that point of her trip.

"No, that's alright. Remington is going to pay for the travel and the house."

"So you have arranged accommodations" he asked.

"We are staying in a house in the city" she replied. "We are hoping to at least have two afternoons to ourselves" she went on her face becoming more animated "we want to see the Museum and a couple of famous landmarks while we are there. Peter is checking into theater tickets as well."

Erik fancied he could hear his teeth grinding. Stop it you idiot man, she doesn't belong to you. "A play" he asked.

"Yes. We want to find something suitable for the children. It will give them something to look forward to since we will be in meetings so frequently." When he said nothing, she though she was not explaining herself very well, "ah, his two children and his wife?"

The picture of a family group sitting companionably in a theater box replaced the previous one of an adoring young man on bended knee, begging for Emily's attention. "I hope that you find something suitable for your entertainment." He had to ask, "Do you ever take in an Opera Madame?"

"I am from a very small town, Monsieur. I had started to go to plays while in New York. I have been to a musical show, but not an Opera."

"What a pity. An Opera combines the best of many arts. I could recommend several that you might enjoy."

She smiled, "Do you go to the Opera?" That meant that he had to leave his home as De La Shaumette.

As her quaint American saying went 'the cat was out of the bag'. How was he going to explain how he knew about Opera? He recovered quickly "I have had access to the music" he gestured toward the piano.

"Ah, I see" she though about her own piano lessons and added, "I had to play some classical, but mostly hymns or the Schottisches or Reels."

"For dancing" he asked," the waltzes also?"

"My teacher had us do a few, but most of our dances were in barns and it is hard to waltz on a dirt floor. We'd mostly stick to the Square Dance, like the Quadrille here in France."

Erik though of the times he had watched dances in the villages along the Seine. "I would suppose that if it is like France, there must be drinking involved?"

Emily smiled "Oh, there was also a jug being passed around. That is where most of us got our first taste of corn liquor. It was home brewed and was pretty vile." She added making a face in remembrance of the taste. "Between the dancing and the liquor, it was also where most of us got our first kiss." She didn't know why she added that in, but sitting here in the quiet of the study and thinking of her youth she believed that the French were no different.

With the ticking of the mantel clock the only other sound in the room, Erik felt the weight of the years he had sat in solitude coming back to him. It seemed to evaporate like a morning mist when Emily was here. After she would leave, the emptiness would surely close in around him again. It took a lot of strength to keep from sinking into the darkness again.

It took even more strength to ask. "Emily, do you ever hope…." And then there was a sharp wrap at the door. "Enter" he spat.

Javier breezed in, grinning at Emily, "Ah, what a pleasant surprise. How is our Madame?"

"Fine Javier, and how are you?"

Javier turned to Erik, taking in the smoldering look on the man's face. He really shouldn't take pleasure in the man's discomfort, but it was such a new thing to realize that the ever so capable Monsieur had a softer side. "Not interrupting anything am I?" At the tight line formed by Erik's lips, he thought perhaps he did.

Erik glanced at the clock; "Aren't you a little early today" he asked.

"I got it taken care of early." He sat down in one of the chairs "Emily, are you going to dinner with us on Thursday? We want to meet at Sophie's and go on to that place with the dessert you like so much, the baklava."

Since meeting up with Sophie, Javier had increasingly found ways to invite her and Phillipe out for the evening. Emily doubted it had anything to do with Phillipe. "Certainly, what time do I have to be at Sophie's?"

"We are planning on leaving from the Robillards' around eight." Javier paused to take a piece of paper out of his vest pocket. "I got the bill that you wanted" he handed it to Erik.

It was the Doctor's bill for the crewman who had had to be stitched after the attack in Paris. At the bottom the signature read; 'GC for J. Gaultier' written on it, indicating that 'GC' had paid the bill for Jules Gaultier. It was a common enough practice, Dugast and Chalin were both allowed to put their initials on forms in his stead. Not only was Charbonneau privy to the schedule for the canal boat, but took care of the bill as well. The question is who would have intercepted the bill in Paris, bringing it to Charbonneau and circumventing Gaultier's office?


	14. Darlin'

**A/N: Please let me know if my foreign phrases are wrong!! Welcome aboard to my new reviewers: HD I hope you are better now-Akhenaton rules! Hello to GerrysJackie, the phantom's cry, ilsa, Kat, Cecily Lune, and a big thanks to patiens-liberi. **

Chapter Fourteen: Darlin'

As Erik was busy with the bill, Javier glanced quickly at Erik and back to Emily raising an eyebrow. She smiled and answered in kind.

"Madame," Erik said, "I have need of a favor."

Emily turned his direction, "Yes Monsieur?"

"I believe you have been asked by Madame Pinson, to demonstrate your Remington firearms again?"

"Yes, she is still doing stories about me for her column when she can."

"I would appreciate it if you were so disposed to do so for her, but with one stipulation, that she secures an invitation for you to meet with Jules Gaultier. It must be done in a social atmosphere, and appear to be something casual, not preplanned."

"Very well, I will see what she can do for us." It seemed that whatever he was about to ask was now forgotten. She bid them a good day and went on with her errands.

After she had left Erik told Javier "My best instincts tell me it is time to move on some of my findings thus far. I want you to move the _Erebus_ to the nearest dock that can accessed from Emily's apartment. I believe the mooring at the Rue de Tanger is the closest."

* * *

Later that evening Erik made his way to where the _Erebus_ now sat, quietly slewing with the current of the river. Entering he went to one of his storage drawers and took out a blank key, filing it into a copy of the main cabin key that he used. If things started to happen, Emily could use the boat as another location to come to safely.

Glancing at his pocket watch it was nearly ten o'clock, and deciding to make an early evening of it he packed up his tools in one of the cupboards. He took both keys with him and walked up the Rue de Tanger to the cross street which lead to the square where Emily's apartment was.

He had come so close to asking her today if she would consider getting married again. He had hoped it would have seemed a casual question, after she had mentioned the dances and the first kiss. Javier had told him he would have to talk to her; it seemed a way to address her reasons for being unavailable. If he understood her reasons, he could find a way around them.

Approaching the square he stopped and leaned against the side of one of the other large houses. Emily lived with Javier's sister Olivia and another girl named Perrine. Once she had decided to leave the hotel, it had been a stroke of luck that Olivia's last roommate had decided to marry and left them with a spot for Emily. She seemed happy there, and at least Javier could drop by and check on her when he needed him to.

He saw her door open and watched as a young girl came out of the door followed by Emily who carried a lamp. They seemed to be looking for something, and he heard Emily tell her to go back inside, she would keep looking.

Emily carried the lamp just ahead of her feet, and hoped none of the neighbors popped out wondering what the crazy American lady was up to now. She had almost been ready for bed when Maxine, her landladies' granddaughter had been sitting on the stairs crying. Emily went to her to find out what was wrong, and found that her kitten had gone missing. The little fur ball could have gone anywhere, but Maxine was not going to bed peacefully unless someone checked outside.

Emily turned back toward the house and walked up to the door, passing it to go to the next corner of the street, when she saw a man crossing the street towards her. She kept the lamp low, but turned her head in his direction to watch him approach. Although he was in a shirt without the worn coat, she recognized Monsieur De La Shaumette as she had seen him the night when she had gone to see Eustache Vaudry. Other than the clothes, his whole demeanor seemed changed. His walk was more of a saunter and his posture bordered on threatening. His disheveled hair partially covered the black material over the right eye area. Why would he hide his eye?

He drew closer, stopping just beyond the ring of light from the lamp, "Madame, what are you doing?" Even his voice sounded different, a bit rougher.

"I came out to get the cat, he's over there," she gestured with the lamp towards the other side of the square where a kitten sat in a doorway. She started across the street making little noises and calling to the kitten, which got up with its tail in the air and paraded a in a circle. "No, you're at the wrong door," she told it.

Erik watched her bend down to scoop the little creature up. Lamp in one hand and cat in the other now hugged to her, she looked up and smiled. The glow from the lamp lit her eyes and sketched golden threads through her hair as it rested on her shoulders. She was in her robe, and at its opening he glimpsed a bit of a silky fabric against her skin. He was silently thankful Emily was not the type of woman to be trussed up in a gown that covered her up to her chin.

The creature in question was purring, and had twisted around hooking its little claws in Emily's robe determined to crawl out of her hand. Knowing he might try to jump she hurried across the street, gesturing with the lamp, "Take this; he is going to get away." Erik took the lamp from her, keeping it to his left side and watched as she tried to dissuade the little creature from climbing up to her shoulder, at one point using both hands to try to get his claws out of the front of her robe.

"I need to get him inside the door so I can let him go, or let him let go of me." As she dislodged one set of claws another came into play. Erik watched her robe getting looser, the overlap was sliding away, and revealing the collar bone from her neck to her shoulder and the gently swelling slope of her breast as it disappeared under the soft material of her gown.

She made it to the door, opening it as the cat started to swat at her hair. "Here he is," she called to someone inside as she slid him across the threshold and closed the door. She realized her robe was askew, and felt her skin starting to heat up in a flush. Yes, the crazy American lady was now in the street half dressed in front of a man.

The French displayed an enthusiasm for clothing that meant to be civilized, was to be seen in high fashion. She could go wrapped in ribbons as long as she looked stylish, but her American upbringing was far more conservative. She quickly refolded the front of her robe closed, darting a glance at him under her hair. He gazed steadily at her. Emily knew what that look meant, it was how a man looked at a woman. It made her breath a little uneven.

In all the times they had been together in the study he had never given her a reason to believe he saw her as anything other than one of his business associations. Did that look mean that that was changing, or was that simply a man's reaction to a woman's body?

Standing together Erik was even more aware of the fact that her robe followed the contours of her soft gown under which she was definitely….

"What are you two doing out here?" Javier was coming up the street, glancing left to right like he expected to see other people in the square with them. "Emily," he said in a hushed tone. Drawing closer he smiled, "_Querida_, you are dressed for bed?"

Erik answered, "She was looking for the cat."

Javier looked at the ground and rubbed his chin. "Ah ha. 'Looking for the cat' well, I don't know how they do it in America Emily, but we usually require chaperones when two unmarried people talk to each other." He paused looking her up and down, "Especially if one of them is going to be nearly undressed."

"_Cierre la boca_, Javier," Erik growled. This was twice in one day he had stumbled across them when he had been prepared to talk with Emily.

Monsieur spoke Spanish? "I really did come out for the cat," she said slowly looking from Javier to Monsieur De La Shaumette who now looked like he was going to start breathing fire at any moment. Having been the recipient of his temper once, she thought it might be a good idea to go in before Javier had the chance to really get the man angry.

She reached for the lamp, "I really should go inside," she said. He surrendered the lamp to her with a nod. The expression on his face had shut down. He looked like a man who had been interrupted. In fact, Javier had appeared in the study when he was going to ask her something.

She felt herself smile, she brushed her hand from the back of his arm near his elbow down to his wrist and said, "Thanks for the help with the cat."

Erik had gone still when he saw her reach towards him. Her touch was light, but it sent a bolt of lightning coursing down to his bones. His hand took on a life of its own and ever so gently grasped hers as he felt her finger tips trail to his palm. Time stopped, all that existed was the exquisite feel of the soft pads of her fingers resting against his. His artist's hands picked up the pulse of blood beneath the skin, the deep rhythm of her heartbeat. She looked questioningly at him.

To Emily the disbelief on his face was that of a man who had managed to capture something he had not thought existed. "Darlin' you are just having a hard time of this aren't you?" she asked.

She pulled away, and Erik let her. "What is 'Dar-lenn'?"

She had started to turn towards the door, but the voice stopped her. It was that same masculine purr from the first night in his study. It was a bedroom voice, deep and promising. Like trailing fingers it moved over her flesh. She swallowed hard and replied, "I think that would be 'Mon Cher' to you. Good Night, Monsieur."

When he had found the reference to 'Darling' in his dictionary, he had gone back through every entry under the 'D' again to be sure he had found the correct word. He could hardly believe his eyes. It was a term of endearment, as she had just confirmed. He tempered his euphoria as he looked towards Javier who now had a smile on his face. "Spaniard, I should strangle you now while I have the chance."

Javier's smile melted, "What did I do?" He started following Erik, "Where are you off to now?"

"To find a prostitute," Erik said.

Javier spoke almost reverently, "Ah, it was the robe eh? The way a woman's body moves when it's free of corsets." He stopped when he saw Erik's quelling glance. "I know 'Shut your mouth, Javier!'"

* * *

He found her as she left a bar with one of the men. Her client was stumbling, with his arm draped around her, he steered her towards and alley. She was probably about sixteen, and a recent addition to the locals. He calmly followed them into the alley. He came up behind the man, grasping him under the chin and with a practiced snapping motion, deprived his brain of oxygen just long enough to rob him of consciousness.

The girl was against a wall, her mouth open in an intake of breath to scream when he leaned over her quickly and said, "Don't." Still shocked, she stood still, trembling as the scarred man looked down at her.

From the mouth of the alley came a shout, "Hey, Josephte," a man staggered up to them, "give me what you have so far." She rolled fearful eyes towards the man who offered her 'protection' for a cut of her earnings. As he got closer he recognized the man Charles Martin. Erik turned to him gathering up the girl's arm and pulling her away from the wall.

"Well Josephte, has he paid you yet?

Her teeth chattering in fear she began "He.."

"I haven't had her yet." The scarred man spat. "I don't like interruptions." He tossed a franc note at the man, "Go drown yourself in some wine."

The man scooped up the money as Erik dragged the girl around the corner, "Like 'em young?"

Erik glanced back, "They complain less."

He steered the stumbling girl roughly towards the _Erebus_. She didn't make any noise, but her breathing was quick. He got her into the boat and lit a lamp. Cowering by the door, she said a silent prayer to God that he would be quick and not hurt her.

Erik gestured toward a stool, "Sit down Mam'selle," he spoke gently.

She stammered, "Please, I'll do whatever you want, please don't hurt me."

"Do you know who I am?" Her head bobbed up and down. "Listen to me, I need some information." He held up a ten franc note. "I want to know who has been using the boats to smuggle for the last three months. I'll give one of these to the girl who gets me the information; you tell the other girls for me." He offered the money to her.

The girl looked at the note in his hand. She usually didn't get that much from the men, she started to pull down her blouse, but he stopped her hand, "No child, you get paid for information."

With shaking hands she pulled up the drawstring that drew the material over her, "Thank you, Monsieur." She took the money.

"If anyone asks," he said raising a finger, "you make up the vilest story you can think of."

She looked perplexed, "Why?"

He gave a short bark of laughter, "Because that is what everyone expects of me." He needed to waste some more time with her in the boat to be convincing. "How do I tell a woman I want to start courting her?"

* * *

Two days later a note came from Madame Griggs.

_Monsieur,_

_Madame Pinson and I have come to terms._

_I have an invitation to the theater where_

_M. Gaultier will be._

_I also have two more signed contracts as you_

_asked for. I'll stop by tomorrow and drop them_

_off for you._

_E.G._


	15. Language of the Fan

Chapter Fifteen: Language of the Fan

It was dark in the study.

Someone had left a windows opened and the cool breeze was fanning the curtain away from the casements, letting in shafts of moonlight that painted the floor with light. He pushed the curtain aside, noticing a piece of music lying in the moonlight. As he knelt to retrieve it, the hem of a skirt appeared in his view.

Emily stood at the edge of the light, looking down at the music. Her head down turned she appeared to be listening to the notes on the page. Her face was suffused with the most exquisite look of joy. Her lips moved, but Erik could not hear her words.

"What is it, Emily?" He moved closer to her. She continued to look at the music as the breeze lifted the corner of the page and pushed it gently towards her. As it touched the hem of her robe, he heard the first gentle swelling notes of the song. Her gown gave off a faint glow where it peeked from under the robe.

Erik reached out to pick up the page. At the first touch he felt a warmth move through his fingers, up his arm and into the core of his body. Behind it came the pulse of the music's time, the heartbeat that bound the notes together.

Stepping into the light, her outstretched hands touched the paper. The glow from the gown turned almost blinding, he had to close his eyes. Her voice was so close to his ear he shivered, "A quiet heart…."

He awoke to the sound of her voice trailing away in the darkness. He brushed his hand over the empty side of the bed, like a child testing the dark to see if the dream was real. The music continued.

* * *

He kept an eye on the time, and instructed Etienne to be sure he knew to send Emily upstairs to him when she arrived. He was finishing up with Phillipe when he heard a knock at the study door. "Enter," he said.

Emily came in carrying papers in her hand. "Hello Phillipe," she said. Turning to Erik, "Hello, I brought you the contracts."

He accepted them and asked, "Would you please take a seat Madame? Are you both ready for the evening at the Corbeau Theater?"

"Yes Monsieur, I will secure the carriage and pick up Emily at her apartment before eight. We have a box with Madame Pinson and her sister. During the intermission she will give us an introduction to Monsieur Gaultier." Phillipe answered, handing Emily a paper, "This is for you from Madame Pinson."

Emily took the papers, looking it over her smile faded. Erik noted the change and asked, "What is it?"

Emily shook her head, "I'm not taking a fan!" At the perplexed looks the men gave her she started reading, "This is about the 'Language of the Fan". She read:

Carrying the open fan in the left hand means 'Come and talk to me'. A half opened fan pressed to the lips means'You may kiss me'. The number of sticks shown answers the question 'At what hour'. Covering the left ear with an open fan means 'Do not betray our secret'.

"The list goes on and on, this is ridiculous," she pronounced. "If I scratch my nose I could wind up eloping for heaven sake!"

Phillipe laughed, "It's alright if you don't take a fan. It's a game people play, they use gloves and parasols as well for these little messages to potential lovers."

"Well, gloves are a necessity, but I don't need an umbrella inside, so I suppose I will endure."

"Madame is uncomfortable with these practices," Erik asked.

"Well, yes. I didn't grow up in a place with such high society. And well, if people wanted to talk, they just talked."

Genuinely puzzled at her attitude Erik asked, "You walk our countryside with loaded guns, but this Fan 'language' as is in this paper disturbs you?"

She grimaced and shook her head, "It's just all too," she hesitated, wondering how the French would translate 'girlie' or 'fussy'. "Well, it's just too frivolous. It's just one of those silly things men expect women to enjoy doing."

Erik noted with pleasure that Emily didn't enjoy the elaborate rituals of public seduction. It seemed in character for her. He preferred a more private form of seduction as well. It seemed a good time to test the waters.

* * *

Emily had arranged her schedule to be done early and promised to have dinner ready so her room mates could help prepare her for the theater. After their dinner, she and Perrine sewed on the last of the lace on the dress she was to wear.

Emily bought the dress at a second hand shop while out with Sophie. She had already been out in her three remaining dresses, and the cost of a new one was prohibitive for the number of times she could be seen in it. Re-arranging the bustle added a small train to the back and some contrasting lace lengthened the capped sleeve and added interest to the dropped shoulders.

Emily had indulged in a new pair of shoes, and longer evening gloves that reached to her elbows. Hugette Pinson had recommended a fan, and told her a very small beaded bag was appropriate to carry with her. With that in mind Emily had found a bead shop, and altered her one small black bag to compliment the emerald green of her dress.

Olivia was going to help with her hair. She would be keeping the curling iron heated, and doing sections of Emily's hair in ringlets. They estimated about and hour and a half to get dressed and finish the hair.

Finished dressing, she sat and sipped a glass of water until a knock at the door. Perrine answered and invited in Phillipe. Livy and Perrine both made a fuss of how handsome he looked. Emily agreed, telling him, "I need to go find a stick to beat the women off of you with!"

Phillipe rolled his eyes, "Every man wishes to be so lucky!" He produced a small black velvet box tied with a red and gold bow. "This is for you with Monsieur De La Shaumette's compliments."

Taking the box, she untied the ribbon while the others waited. Opening the lid she found a small card tucked in the top, and underneath was a pair of earrings with a beautifully matched pair of tear drop shaped diamonds suspended from dark blue sapphires. "Oh my," she breathed. She read the card:

A simple elegance for

an elegant woman

DLS

Livy was quick to take the box as Perrine removed the small pearls that Emily had dressed with. Clasping the earrings, both women stepped back and smiled. "They are perfect for you Emily," Livy said. Perrine ran to the dresser and brought the hand mirror for Emily.

Looking at her reflection she agreed that his choice was impeccable. As he had written, a simple elegance, not over stated, and the color of the sapphires matched her eyes.

"Madame is pleased?" Phillipe asked.

"Yes, Madame is pleased," she smiled.

* * *

Emily thoroughly enjoyed the theater that evening. Hugette and Therese were quite taken with Phillipe, promising to introduce him to some of the unmarried ladies that were present at the performance. During the intermission, the audience adjourned to the theater lobby where drinks were served. Emily and Phillipe circulated among the crowd saying hellos.

Emily noticed Hugette pointedly looking at her, she and Therese stood with a man who must be Monsieur Gaultier. Making there way over, she and Phillipe were introduced.

Jules Gaultier had and air of dignity and grace about him that impressed Emily immediately. He was beautifully attired, bald except for the closed cropped grey hair, with even features and intelligent blue eyes. When Remington was mentioned, he started inquiring into how successful a venture the typewriters were proving to be.

When they announced the curtain call in ten minutes, Emily shook hands with M. Gaultier who asked, "I understand that Madame Pinson has arranged for you to display your firearms again. I will be attending this event with my son and daughter."

"I would be delighted to meet them, Monsieur. Stop by and say hello. Perhaps I could persuade you to try a shot."

"Ah, Madame is generous. I am quite a gun enthusiast myself." He bid her good evening as they went to their respective boxes.

* * *

­­­­­­­­

The voice floated out of the alley darkness, "You have something for me?"

The woman was leaning against the building's corner looking up and down the street. "The little one told us you were offering ten francs." She dropped a hand, into which he slipped the rolled up bill. She folded it into her palm. "You know the usual ones, but there is a new man. He's young, tall, blonde fellow. Name is Trahan. He did some odd jobs until he got picked up by the crew on one of 'Shaumette's boats, the _Nyx_ I think."

After another casual glance down the street, she turned slowly and looked into the alley. Goose bumps ran up her arms. No matter how many times she had sold information, no matter how well he paid, how he could melt into the darkness made her shiver.

* * *

The next morning Emily arrived at the house a little bemused by the thought of thanking Monsieur for the earrings. She had been tired leaving the theater, but once at home she sat in the quiet dark of the little sitting area of the apartment and thought about him. The card had described her as an 'elegant woman'. Did he really see her that way? She never thought of herself as having any grace or elegance.

Phillipe heard the knock from the kitchen and went to open it. Emily smiled up at him and said "Good Morning. Do you have it?"

"Yes, here," he handed her a folded up section of the newspaper as they moved into the parlor.

Emily took it and sat on the sofa, unfolding it she read. "Oh no," she said.

Phillipe, his lips forming a grim line nodded, "Yes, I'm afraid he is dead."

"No!" she said in a mournful voice, dropping the paper into her lap. Her lips formed a little pout, "He was my favorite."

Sliding on his coat as he descended the stair, Erik heard the distress in Emily's voice. "What has happened?"

"Sir Henry Dalrymple is dead," Phillipe pronounced. "There was an avalanche you see, and only Christopher Morriston has been found by the rescuers."

Emily folded up the paper, "Thunderation!" she said in English. She leaned her head back on the sofa raising her hand to her forehead as all fainting women were reputed to do, "My life is over! I shall be in mourning for a year!"

Phillipe handed the paper to Erik and indicated the story that had been running in the paper. Erik hadn't taken much interest in it, as it featured some English spies, and an Italian Doctor, who were always rescuing an Austrian Baroness whose purpose in life was to create more havoc to be rescued from. He glanced at Emily who was affecting a heaving sigh, "I loved that man," she said in a wistful voice.

Amused, he smiled. Emily's playful side again. It was becoming one of the things he enjoyed during her visits. "Come, the coffee is ready and I have toast as well. You can console yourself with breakfast."

He offered her a hand, and she grasped it, rising from the sofa. Erik held on to her hand and took a step back, she followed in kind. Once again, there was no hint in her face that she found this brief contact with him repugnant in any way. The single tongue of hope's flame was starting to burn brighter.

They moved to the dinning room table where three plates were laid out with toast piled in the center of the table, pots of jam sitting next to it and a crock of butter. "Do you prefer coffee or tea in the morning?"

"I'll take either, but coffee seems to give me the energy to get moving sooner," Emily replied.

He brought in the pot and poured the coffee. "Tell me about the theater."

Emily and Phillipe took turns describing the evening. They seemed equally impressed by Jules Gaultier.

"So, from both of your impressions, he seems a decent man to trade with," Erik surmised. "Now on to the second part of the plan, when you meet Sunday afternoon at Madame Pinson's, I want you to pass the Paris Doctors' bill to him. I will leave it up to you how much you want to tell him of our suspicions. If he is receptive, then I want to find some one who can be relied upon to pass information back to us bypassing any business channels, especially Denis Chalin's office."

"Monsieur Chalin?" Emily asked.

"I have found he has an assistant who knew of the schedule of the boat that day, and writes in English. His name is Giles Charbonneau. He also initialed the Paris doctor bill for M. Gaultier. Someone took it from Paris, and directed it be paid through Charbonneau."

"So, does this clear M. Gaultier as a suspect?" Emily asked.

"I am not ruling out anything yet. I will rely upon your and Phillipe's assessment on Sunday."

As they sat finishing their coffee, Phillipe decided it was time to leave them alone. Agnes and Etienne wouldn't arrive for another hour, so they would be undisturbed. He new Monsieur must be wondering what she thought of his gift. He'd have to ask Emily or Javier later how this conversation would finish.

**A/N for more on the 'Language of the Fan' visit my profile for the web address :)**


	16. Thank You, Monsieur

**Greetings everyone...Welcome aboard, Virtual Unicorn! As mentioned before, Erik isn't mine. He belongs to all of us through the genius of Leroux and Webber. A side note, I finally got to read Kay's 'Phantom"..isn't it interesting that I picked _Charles_ as the name of the scarred man, as that was Erik's father's name in her story?  
**

Chapter Sixteen: Thank You, Monsieur

Phillipe excused himself, "I must be off now."

Erik offered a slice of orange he was peeling to Emily, who took it from him with a smile. She wiped her fingers on the napkin in her lap and looked up.

"I have something for you," he pulled a key from his vest pocket. "At the end of the Rue de Tanger is a dock where a boat will be moored. This key fits the cabin door which we keep locked at night. If for any reason you do not feel safe returning to your apartment, I want you to make your way to the boat and lock yourself in. The name on the stern is _Erebus_."

Emily took the key with narrowed eyes, "You are giving me the key to hell?"

Erik was pleased she knew the name. "You have read the Greek Myths?"

"During the summer with my Grandfather," she had to ask, "are your other boats similarly named?"

"Yes, after the myths," he replied. "Things are going to start moving quickly now, Madame. As we involve Gaultier, and start acting on some of our evidence I don't want to take any chances with your safety. There may also be some times when I will not be available during the day."

"Traveling as the other man?" she asked.

He nodded, offering her another slice of the orange. Intuition told her he was not comfortable talking about his old identity. "So if I have to use the key, I just stay a while or wait till dawn?"

"At least the night. If you are uncomfortable for any reason, do not expose yourself by trying to return to your apartment, or to this house. Those are the two places someone would know about, but not the boat. Javier and I would both check the boat if you did not return home."

She sat back, putting the napkin on the table. It gave her a moment to think. She looked directly at him. "So you know more than you are going to tell me."

He arched an eyebrow, "You say I am a magician. How shall I maintain my 'illusions' if I tell you all my secrets?"

There was a short rap at the door and Javier's voice, "I smell coffee."

This was so much in keeping with his latest run of luck. Just when the chance arose to ask Emily how she liked the earrings, Javier stops by early.

"Ah, good morning to you both," Javier appeared in the doorway.

"Good Morning," Emily said. She was a little put out; she had been trying to decide the best way to thank Monsieur for the gift when Javier popped in.

Erik arose from the table, "Thank you for joining me for breakfast, Madame."

Javier stuck his head in the door, "I didn't get invited," he complained. He disappeared into the kitchen.

"You didn't go to the theater," Emily replied leading the way into the hall with De La Shaumette behind her. If she left, he might take her silence as displeasure at his gift. She had to tell him something.

When she got close to the bottom of the stairs she quickly took a step up on one, turning to glance to see that the kitchen door had swung closed. On an impulse she bent towards him, grasping his coat by the lapel, she tugged on it and he stepped towards her.

It happened so quickly. Her hand was on his shoulder and she was leaning towards him. Softly, he felt her lips brush his cheek. She lingered a second and said, "Thank you for the earrings."

Every fiber of his being had awakened. He captured her hand as it retreated from his shoulder. She was wearing that smile again. He wanted to speak but doubted the words would come. God, Emily, you don't know what you are doing to me.

His eyes were so intent on her face; she hoped she had only surprised him. She knew some people did not care to be touched, and hoped this was not the case for him. Then he turned her hand and placed a kiss on her palm. His larger hand holding hers so gently, how did he make so small a gesture seem so very intimate? He closed his eyes, and turned his face into her palm as would a cat seeking to be stroked. She would have let him have that hand for the rest of the day if it weren't for Javier bumping around in the kitchen.

The feel of flesh against flesh, so small a thing to others, so profound to him, Erik bent his head and placed her palm against his face until he was forced to release her as he heard Javier at the kitchen door.

He stepped back and let her step off of the stair. "Good Day, Madame," he said quietly.

* * *

Emily arrived at Hugette Pinson's home in a carriage with Phillipe. Overcoming his mistrust of guns, he now carried the shotgun while Emily carried the rifle. Joining the shooting party at the rear of the estate, Hugette made the rounds of introductions to people who had not previously met Emily.

As they came to the place where Jules Gaultier waited, Emily saw a striking young man next to him. M. Gaultier shook her hand in greeting, "Madame, this is my son Blaise."

The younger Gaultier reflected little of his father, except for the intense blue eyes. He was tall with dark blonde hair and a close cropped van dyke style beard. He bent over her hand and kissed it, "I am so glad to meet you at last Madame. We have been following your progress through Madame Pinson's column since your near disastrous arrival."

Emily smiled, "I never intended to come to France and be famous."

"Oh, but Madame's employment is quite unique, and you were brought over by M. De La Shaumette," Blaise replied.

Hugette had managed to secure one of the machines which hurled small clay 'pigeons' as targets for the demonstration of the guns. Several of the other men in the party took turns showing off their skills as well as Emily. She used the rifle, but later displayed the shotgun and offered it to anyone who wished to take a turn firing it.

When Jules stepped up and took his turn, Emily stood by with her rifle held in one crooked arm. He squeezed off to shots using the gun then asked her questions about ammunition. Blaise stood to one side listening. Evidently he did not share his father's enthusiasm for guns because he commented that a shotgun didn't seem a good weapon as its range was so short.

"On the contrary, Monsieur," Emily replied. "A shotgun's advantage is its short range." She gestured to a nearby table that was set up with a coffee urn. "I can turn that table into firewood with one shot." He turned to look in the direction she pointed. "A shotgun can splatter a large number of small pellets over a short distance."

"What kind of range can you get from the rifle," Jules asked.

"One to two miles," she replied. "The higher grain of shot and the shape of the bullet itself determine how far it will travel." Blaise looked doubtful of her claim so she added, "No one wants to get close to a very angry bear."

"I need to get back to the house, Phalene was to arrive shortly. I'll bring her out," Blaise said, retreating.

Jules turned to Emily, "That is my daughter. She has not slept well since her mother's death."

"Oh, I must apologize. I did not know of your loss."

"It has been two years," he began, "my wife died of a tumor in the spine. In a way it was merciful that she did leave us, her pain was incredible towards the end. In her last weeks she was under the doctors orders to increase the morphine. At the last she passed peacefully."

"I understand. Many of the veterans of our Civil War used morphine. It was a great boon to those who suffered in pain."

"Would you care for a coffee, Madame?" he gestured toward the table.

"Only if you promise to start calling me Emily," she teased.

"Very well, Emily." He looked towards the house. "Here is Phalene now," he said smiling. He gave a short wave to his two children as they approached.

Blaise approached with a young woman on his arm. Similar in likeness, the younger girl was darker haired than her brother. "Madame Griggs, may I introduce my sister Phalene."

Emily was shocked at how pale the girl was. "How do you do," she said grasping the girl's hand.

Her handshake felt weak and her hand slid from Emily's. She lowered her head in a nod, "So pleased to meet the famous Madame." Even her voice sounded as if it took effort to speak. The girl had not let go of Blaise's arm. He stood very close as if to support her weight Although her skin seemed bloodless, her eyes shone and her hair looked lustrous. Her face held a strange dreaminess.

Emily had witnessed that look before. Although the body retained the look of health the brain was slowly being poisoned by a drug. Evidently, her mother was not the only one who had relied on a drug to wash away the pain.

Hugette Pinson joined them, giving Phalene a peck on the cheek. "It's so good to see you out, my dear." Phalene gave her a warm smile. "And here is Giles. Madame Griggs, have you met Giles Charbonneau?" The young man approaching was trying to catch the errant edges of a lap blanket. His hair was an unruly mass of brown curls, his attire was obviously the latest trend, and his dark eyes were curiously bright as he looked at Emily.

"Ah," he breathed. "Ah, Madame Griggs! A pleasure! I have heard so much about you!" He grappled with the blanket edges and then reached quickly for Emily's hand, gripping it soundly. "I work for Monsieur Chalin. We have been handling the Remington imports!"

"How do you do," Emily replied hoping he would soon let go of her hand which he was still shaking.

She gave a little tug and noticed the censuring gaze Blaise turned on Giles. Giles must have felt it for he dropped her hand as if it had caught fire; glancing at the blanket he offered it to Phalene. "Are you cold, Phalene?"

She closed her eyes slowly, turning her head slightly and smiling, "No, dearest Giles. I am quite warm right now. Perhaps taking the air has revived me."

Jules Gaultier reached for his daughter's hand. "Would you care for a coffee?"

"No, papa, I would like to sit down though," she glanced around.

Giles volunteered, "I'll bring you a chair," and promptly started looking for one. Hugette gestured toward the side of the table where the coffee urn was sitting and followed him over to it. She took the blanket from him as he brought over two chairs. "Would you also like a chair Madame?" he asked.

"No, thank you." Emily replied. She cast a glance over a Phillipe who was talking to one of the other guests. She nodded towards him, "Giles, have you ever met Phillipe Robillard?"

"Well, I haven't had the pleasure. He usually deals with M. Chalin directly."

"Come, I'll introduce you then." Emily took a hold of Giles arm, guiding him towards Phillipe. Giles glanced quickly at Blaise who stood watching. Interesting, Emily thought, Giles seems to seek his approval. As they stepped away, Emily wrapped her arms around Giles proffered arm in a companionable way and stepped closer. Smiling she said, "The boat was a mistake?"

Giles turned his head so quickly it surprised Emily that there was not an audible snapping sound. She gripped his arm still smiling and said, "We must be careful. We must appear casual," she nodded as though he had said something to her. Giles started to turn his head but Emily warned, "You look to Blaise, is he part of this as well?"

Giles looked forward again. "We did not mean any harm Madame. You must believe that. It was an accident. Please, De La Shaumette is a powerful man, he would ruin us."

She held up a hand, "Do not fear, Giles. He only wants to be assured it was a mistake. I still consult with him about the imports as you know. I can reassure him, but you must be honest with me."

Giles affected a laugh, and gestured towards Phillipe. "Madame," he began quietly, "we only do it for Phalene. Believe me that is all I can tell you. Blaise will be angry. We love her Madame. What happened was a mistake. It will not be repeated."

Emily heard the sincerity in his voice. He was either greatly contrite or a very good liar. She nodded in agreement. "I understand. But know this. If anything else happens, De La Shaumette will not be pleased. You do not want to make that man angry." She looked in his eyes, seeing his slight nod of agreement. "Phillipe," she said, "I want to introduce you to Giles Charbonneau." As they shook hands she added, "If you need anything, Phillipe will be happy to assist you."

Emily stepped back and watched one of the other guests take a shot. She was aware that Blaise still watched Giles with Phillipe. She would have to get this information back to Monsieur, as Phillipe had not heard all of what had passed between her and Giles. Although Giles had tried to reassure her, instinct told her that Blaise could still cause trouble.


	17. Abducted

Chapter Seventeen: Abducted

Blaise Gaultier fixed Giles Charbonneau with a withering glare. "Giles, you fool! Why did you send her a note?"

Giles shrugged, "It does not matter now. I had hoped that De La Shaumette would be placated by it. But then you," he shook a finger at Blaise, "you jeopardized all of this in Paris! That was entirely your doing; you can't blame that on Trahan!"

"I had to follow him to Paris. He was supposed to have the money. If he hadn't been the one to panic and tear a hole in the boat Madame Griggs was on no one would have ever known."

"No Blaise." Giles shook his head. "How would you have explained to your father where the money came from when he is ready to sell the small boat, eh? Told him 'sorry father I've been smuggling on the side to afford this'. And Trahan being picked up by one of De La Shaumette's boats? Good God, Blaise. Of all the errors we have made, this is the one that will cost us. De La Shaumette will not let it go if he finds someone has been running contraband to England on one of his boats. We will go to jail."

"He won't know. How his Madame Griggs learned of your writing the note is not clear. If he knew that you were involved, wouldn't you already be in jail?" Blaise led the way through the conservatory of his family's home. "She told you she could reassure him. We will give her the time for that. Tomorrow I will have Trahan take care of Madame."

"What? Do you have some perverse wish to invite disaster upon us?" Giles exploded, looking towards the doors that connected the conservatory with the main house. "Madame Griggs found out somehow, if anything else befalls her De La Shaumette will be on guard! The man is reputed to have spies everywhere! There is nothing he cannot find out!"

Blaise sneered, "Have some backbone, Giles. If we have his Madame Griggs, he will be using his contacts to find her." Blaise reached for the door adding in a lower voice, "We need to keep her hidden until Father decides to sell the boat. You will act as the agent of the sale for our imaginary company, we will have the boat, and Phalene will have her drugs without Father's knowledge."

Still not convinced, Giles Charbonneau entered the house behind Blaise. They were doing this for Phalene. But what would befall her if anything were to happen to Emily Griggs?

* * *

Erik stepped from the dock to the deck of the _Nyx_. Going down the steps to the small cabin area on the first deck he quietly approached the young man slumbering in the bunk. "Trahan," he said, lighting a lamp.

Alain Trahan woke with a start and turned to see who had called his name. Leaning against the cupboard was a tall man silhouetted in the light. "Yes, I'm Trahan. What do you want?"

The man turned up the lamp revealing half a face covered in black material. The hard expression in his one good eye fixed Alain like a bug captured under a glass. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Answers," he said in a toneless voice.

Alain Trahan felt dread spreading though his belly like cold fingers. The scarred man was De La Shaumette's henchman according to local gossip. "Martin?" he asked. The man nodded. "I work for De La Shaumette," he stammered.

"As do I," Erik assured him, "as long as the pay is enough for the job."

"What are you talking about?" Alain replied slowly swinging his legs off the bunk. Maybe he could get up and make it out the door before Martin could catch him.

Erik saw the furtive glance towards to door and placed a booted foot against the end of the bunk to keep the boy from bolting. Reaching down into the boot he made a show of pulling out a very slender and dangerously sharp stiletto. "No games, boy," he said holding the knife carelessly. "'Shaumette knows that you damaged the boat. Now you and I are going to have a chat about why you did, and who you did it for."

* * *

Monday was going to be a busy day for Emily, but she dashed off a note to Monsieur De La Shaumette hoping to get a reply.

Monsiuer,

I spoke with G.C. He admits to the note.

He also implicates Blaise Gaultier. It has

something to do with the sister. I do not

think that Jules Gaultier knows.

I have meetings today, but only one before

noon tomorrow. Should we meet?

E.G.

Sending it by cab to the house, Emily went back to the apartment and gathered up her supplies for the day. She had two short meetings in the morning, and an afternoon planned at one of the smaller colleges in the old section of town. According to Phillipe the school was small but had students from some of the more influential families in Rouen. Hopefully she could meet more people interested in the typewriter. Monsieur was planning to send for fifteen machines. She wanted to line up interested parties for the next group to be ordered.

As she stopped to pin her hat into place she looked down once again at the small black box he had sent to her with the earrings in it. She thought of that moment on the stair, how he had brought her hand to his face, turning his cheek in her hand. Was Javier right? She never pictured herself as a woman a man could not resist. If he was right, what would it mean to her?

She had to admit to herself that he was an intriguing man, but was she ready for another man in her life? She really didn't know that much about him to know if he was searching for a wife or a companion. The French were renowned for keeping mistresses, what if that was what he had in mind?

Emily had been raised to believe that a man and woman married. Although her marriage had turned into a disaster, and she had committed the unthinkable by divorcing, could she marry again? And what if he was only after a dalliance? After the emotional turmoil she felt after the divorce, she doubted she could be so casual as to go to a man's bed. She knew in the quiet corners of her heart that she could not give herself to a man without love.

* * *

Erik quickly sketched out his plans for the next two days to Javier and Phillipe. He handed a folder over to Phillipe with all of the current contracts and bank drafts to keep business going for the time it would take to close the affair of the sinking boat.

"What are you going to do with Emily," Phillipe asked.

"According to Trahan, she is going to be the bait they hope to keep us busy with. I have arranged for her to be taken to one of the boats. We will then meet at the warehouse where we will finish closing the snare on our would be villains.

Javier whistled softly and shook his head. "She will be 'mad as a wet rooster'."

Phillipe put in, "That's 'madder than a wet _hen_', Javier"

Erik looked from one man to the other. Another of Emily's American sayings, it seemed as illogical as having bagged cats. "I promised her I would protect her, and it is not a promise that I would make lightly. If everyone follows my instructions we will get through this without causing more than a minor annoyance to Emily in the form of a few missed appointments."

"And if anything goes wrong," Phillipe asked.

"There will be hell to pay if anything happens to her," Erik replied darkly, "I will promise you that." He wouldn't allow anything to befall Emily Griggs; he did not want to face a future with out her.

* * *

As Emily left the building where her last appointment of the day was, she walked a short distance to a shop and picked up a small bag of apples to make _Clafoutis Normand_, an apple-butter pudding. Adding a bottle of Brandy, she would take home to Livy and Perrine as her contribution to the evening's dinner.

Arriving at the apartment, she stepped out of the cab and paid the driver. As he urged the horses away from the curb she turned and saw a young man standing at the corner of the street. He was tall with the kind of rawboned body that could be deceptively stronger than his angular frame seemed. He saw her, and removed a rather large floppy brimmed hat, nodding to her.

He seemed familiar, and Emily paused a moment to try to place the face. He smiled slightly as if he recognized her as well. She picked up her bag and walked to the corner. "Hello," she said, "we have met before?"

He seemed a bit shy, glancing around the street. "Yes, Madame. My name is Alain Trahan. I was with you on the canal boat with the typewriters."

"Oh yes. You were the one that was sent to round up men from Jumieges to help get cargo off."

He clutched the hat to his chest, and took a few steps backward, bobbing his head "Yes, Madame." He stammered, "Ah, how are you finding Rouen? It is a very large city."

She nodded in agreement "I am getting settled in. It is a pleasant place." She shifted the bag on her arm.

"Here, let me take that for you," he said grasping the top of the bag.

"That's alright," Emily said, but he was already lifting it out of her arms.

"I will help you," he said cheerfully.

"Well, thank you Monsieur," she said. The idea women were helpless creatures that needed a man around must be universal. Every one of them seemed eager to help her in some way.

Standing in the small square with traffic moving in and out, Emily did not pay attention to the sounds from the approaching carriage. When it came close enough, a door swung open and a man stepped down, wrapping an arm around her waist and a hand over her mouth.

Emily froze for a moment as she felt herself pulled backwards. Reverting back to the days she used to wrestle with her brother, she stepped back bringing her heel down sharply on the man's instep. Feeling her foot stop and the muffled sound in her ear she knew she had hurt him, but had not surprised him enough to make him loosen his grip. She reached up with her hand to try to push his hand from her mouth, going limp at the same time to try to slide beneath his arm. Unfortunately the nice young man named Trahan reached down and grabbed her legs lifting her, and the man who held her from behind pulled her into the carriage.

Alain quickly climbed in as well slamming the door. He hit the roof twice with a closed fist and the carriage began to move. "Please Madame, do not struggle." She was kicking, and he once again captured her legs. "We are not going to hurt you, but you must not struggle," he added emphatically.

Emily was not at all happy with this turn of events. Besides the indignity of being set upon by two men and abducted in a carriage, was the fact that she was in the lap of the one whose hand still covered her mouth. Part of his hand cupped her chin, his forearm across her collarbone; he held her head securely against his chest in a manner that prevented her from twisting her upper body. Held in such a way with Trahan holding down her legs, all she could do was calm down and wait until the next opportunity she had to get away.

She watched outside the window over Trahan's shoulder as the carriage swung into a turn. It was not a very long ride and she had tried to catch some of her landmarks in the window. When it finally rolled to a stop she saw only the side of a building. They must have pulled into another alley, undoubtedly to keep from being seen. The man behind her still held her firmly as Trahan spoke. "I am going to get out now. I don't want you to start fighting again. You understand?"

She couldn't move her head, and the hand still was clamped over her mouth. She focused her eyes on Trahan and blinked slowly for a yes. Trahan nodded back and the man behind her slid forward moving her towards the door of the carriage. Trahan reached out and took her arm. "We are going to cross the street to a boat. If you start to make any sounds, we will be forced to knock you senseless."

Emily made a muffled growl but blinked her eyes again. The hand slowly came away from her mouth and she pursed her lips to show that she wouldn't make a sound. Trahan watched her carefully, and offered her a hand, helping her out of the carriage. The man behind her kept a hand on her shoulder near her neck. She didn't dare try anything here although it was light and people were moving about on the street. With the man behind her, he could easily club her head or choke her. She kept her eyes trained on Trahan and let him lead her by the arm to a canal boat.

She was guided down two steps as Trahan held open the cabin door for her. Still clutching her arm in one hand he pulled her gently into the dim room. He indicated the bunk next to the wall, "Please Madame, sit over there." He continued to guide her over, but she felt the hand of the man behind her fall away. Good, if the second man left she would stand a better chance of getting away.

Erik backed out of the cabin and looked around the dock. Dressed as Charles Martin, very few people would take note of his being on the boat. He walked back to the carriage, his foot still stinging from Emily's attack. He'd never dreamed that his first chance to hold this woman in his arms was when he would be her abductor. He shook his head; evidently old habits did die hard.

Emily sat down on the bunk, and scooted to place her back against the wall. "How long will I be here?"

"I cannot tell you that, Madame. Please make yourself comfortable. We will not touch you, if you continue to behave."

Not a very good chance of that, she thought. She noticed for some inexplicable reason he had brought her shopping bag, placing it onto the cupboard across from her. She glanced around the compartment. "This is only the second canal boat I have been on," she commented. "As you know, someone tried to sink the first one. I am not going to have to repeat that experience am I?"

He had brought a stool over and sat watching her. At her comment he shook his head, "No Madame! I told you, you are to be here a little while, and then we will move you to someplace more comfortable for you."

She gave a short laugh, "Well, thank you for that. Someone wants me comfortable?"

"Yes Madame. We have instructions."

"And who has instructed you," she had to ask. Perhaps he would give some clues as to who ordered this little trip.

"I can't tell you. I only know my part in this. I am to keep you here until the man returns who will move you." He pronounced the words carefully as if he was a schoolboy repeating his lesson for the day.

Emily sighed heavily and went back to looking around the cabin. There was a long low window above the cupboard. She could get through it, but not with him here, and having a skirt on would make it difficult. If she got hung up because of the skirt she would be in more trouble for trying to get away. There was the cabin door they had come through. Could it be locked? De La Shaumette had given her a key for a cabin. She could not remember hearing the man who left lock it, but he might have.

Looking towards the doorway to the cargo area she knew from trying to retrieve the typewriters at Jumieges that there was not exit that way either. She reached up and pulled off her hat which had remarkably stayed on her head. Good, that meant her hat pin was still in it. She had a ludicrous picture flit through her mind of fending off a snarling bunch of men with her hat pin thrust forward like a rapier. She could just picture De La Shaumette bearing down upon her with lowered brows, thundering in that commanding voice, 'Madame, have you lost what little sense you have?'

Good lord, that man was going to be able to bite the heads off of nails when he found she was gone. After their argument in his study about taking carriages, he couldn't blame her for not getting into one. It was just her luck that they had provided a carriage for her.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N-**Thanks readers and HD-I keep getting the comment about reviewers. Maybe I started off too slow, or my summary sucks, don't know. Just disappointing, it puts me in my **Dark** **Place**. You don't want to know! There are three more chaps till the end of _Sorcerer_.

Coming soon will be Sorcerer Part 2- tentatively titled "The Shell Game". A handsome Pinketan detective, a gang of American crooks, and Erik trying to tell Emily of his past. Also working on two short fics, one about how Javier joins Erik- "The Golden Lotus", and one from Agnes, "Lightning in a Jar". Please drop me a comment if you have suggestions!

For those of you who have not been to Europe, a 'WC' or Water Closet is a bathroom.

**Chapter Eighteen: Brandy and a Hat Pin**

Emily heard the church bells start to chime six o'clock. She wondered how long it would be before anyone started to worry about her. Livy and Perrine both worked at one of the mills, they would be home now. Sitting here with Trahan staring at her like a dog with a treed squirrel was going to drive her to distraction. "So," she said, "how do you like Rouen?"

He seemed momentarily confused, but began talking. The longer he rambled on the more she regretted asking the question. He seemed to never run out of things to add to his tale. Another picture flitted through her mind, using to hat pin to kill herself in despair of being bored to death. Or maybe tearing strips of the sheet below her and dangling them out the window like Rupenzel's hair to climb down, or maybe just choking him till he stopped talking.

He finally came to a subject that she had interest in, photography. "Have you taken photographs?" she asked.

"No, but when a man came to the school to take our picture…" he started in again. Her plan changed to getting drunk on the Brandy then killing herself with the hat pin. She had been stupid enough to ask.

She heard a clock chime seven o'clock. She interrupted him, "Sorry, but is there a place lady could use a water closet?" It had been hours, and she needed to find a place to relieve herself.

He looked momentarily panicked, as if she would burst. "Ah, no Madame, that is why we wanted to move you from the boat." He turned on the stool and half got up, "We could go to the tavern, but you must promise not to try to get away." He warned.

"Oh, I'd never do that," she assured him. She'd never promise anything as stupid as that, she thought, hoping he couldn't tell that she was lying.

He got up and looked out the window. "There aren't many people to see us, but you must promise to do as I tell you." He instructed. "If Madame promises to take my hand, and not cause any trouble, I will get you there." He turned to cast a glance at her, "Please, Madame. Don't try anything. They would kill me if anything happened to you."

"They?" she asked. Well, it could be Giles and Blaise. Maybe Blaise found out and wasn't happy with her promise to Giles. Then again, it could be anyone that they might have paid.

He bobbed his head, and offered his hand. She slid her hand into his and waited until he turned back towards the door, and came even with the bag on the cupboard. She had transferred the hat pin to her left hand, primed; she stabbed down into the soft part of his hand between the thumb and fingers. He yelped and let her hand go to withdraw the pin. As he focused on the pin, she grabbed the top of the brandy bottle from the bag and swung it in a vicious arc towards his head.

Time seemed to slow; he looked toward the approaching bottle and yanked his head back only to have it collide with the door. Emily felt her hand jar to a stop. In the doorway stood De La Shaumette in the disguise he wore when she had seen him at night, one hand holding open the door, the other had stopped the bottle in mid air.

Emily did not recognize the man before her. His mouth set in a grim line, his one uncovered eye was as dark as a storm tossed sea. There was no trace of recognition, no emotion in that visage. No _humanity_ in that face.

Instead of relief, she felt dread. The tension in his body made her take a step backward, slowly, allowing the bottle to slip out of her fingers. With a motion to quick for her eye to follow he flung it onto the bunk. He took one slow step forward, slamming the door behind him. The sudden explosive force of his strength sending the door backwards should have ripped it off its hinges. Thunderation, she thought, she had now poked the dragon, and was in dire peril of seeing its teeth.

"Trahan," he growled, "what were you doing?" Erik held Emily's eyes with his, willing her to not speak and reveal she knew who he really was.

"We were going to go to the tavern," he started. "She said she had to…to go."

She felt entranced by his eyes, he started walking forward. Emily felt unsure of what to do. Was he kidnapping her himself? Or was he doing it for someone else. She stepped back again until she felt her legs touch the bunk. Trahan had scrambled to his feet and was backing up as well.

Erik took another step towards her and grasped her arm. He dragged her inexorably toward him, "I'll take care of it," he said.

"Martin," Trahan warned, stepping forward to intercede, "she is not to be harmed."

Erik was satisfied that although Alain Trahan might be a bumbling dolt, he was doing his best to try to protect Emily. That might be the one thing that would be to his credit in this whole affair. He looked from Emily to the boy. "I'll take her to the other boat. Be at the warehouse tomorrow, Trahan." He tugged on Emily's arm and maneuvered her towards the door.

"Do as he says," Trahan warned Emily. She glimpsed the fear on the young man's face and felt her unease go up a notch. Obviously Monsieur 'Martin' had quite the reputation.

He dragged her out the cabin door and to the edge of the dock; stepping over to it he lifted her off of the boat and onto the dock dropping her unceremoniously. His hand wrapped around her arm, Emily had to take two steps to his every one as he strode purposefully towards the waiting carriage. He brought her to a stop as he jerked open the carriage's door, "Don't try anything," he bent to growl in her ear, his warm breath moving on her neck.

"You're safe, I don't have any more hat pins," she spat back. Why had she said that? Surely he would only get angrier. Everyone had warned her of De La Shaumette's temper. Maybe the elegantly dressed gentleman was an act, and this coarse man was how he really was.

She felt the carriage rock as her climbed up to the driver's seat. As the carriage moved along the waterfront Emily watched to see if there were any streets she could recognize. They turned, going to the North side of the river.

It finally stopped and a moment later he opened the door. He offered her a hand down. Emily saw what looked to be two boats nestled in an inlet along the river. Along the street she glimpsed the warehouses with larger doors for access to load cargo on wagons, and occasional smaller doors for men. Their endless expanse of brick walls relieved at the top by a small row of windows under the roof that allowed light into the buildings.

Erik led her to the cabin of the _Erebus_. "We moved the boat here today," he told her, "you will be here for the night." He unlocked the door and entered, striking a light to one of the lanterns inside.

Emily looked about the cabin. This boat was a little larger and had been arranged differently. It was similar at the entrance with the line of cupboards to the left side, but also had a table attached to the opposite side with a pair of stools. A machine sat on a stand beyond the table, and farther back was a small bench and a corner stove for heat. A door opened in a partition to the back of the boat.

Erik turned to her, "There on the table is some food. I have wine aboard and water to make coffee with." He gestured towards to partition, "Beyond that is the bunk room. The water closet is there as well."

His voice was back to its normal tone, maybe he had cooled off a little during the trip over.

Emily walked back to the partition. On one of the single bunks, she dropped her handbag. Someone had stacked a pair of towels on the bunk, and inside a small door were a wash stand and a toilet. She took the time to use the facility and give her face and hands a rinse. It was nearly July, with the days warmer, it felt good to wash her face and neck. As the cabin was warm, she took off her stockings.

Erik opened the windows over the cupboards and uncorked the bottle of wine. Emily came back, she had taken her hair down partially, it trailed onto her shoulder. He offered her wine in a tin cup.

"Is every boat different inside?" she asked. She took the wine and went to sit at the table.

"Yes," he replied joining her at the table, he pulled the stool out and sat with his back against the wall. "They all have two decks. Most of the space is for cargo, but some like this one have living accommodations." He sat with the dark patch away from her. She had only seen him like this in the dark. She would be capable of seeing the discolored skin, the uneven surface of the material and the bare patches in his scalp that the material didn't cover. Another one of her 'cats out of the bag' he thought. It was inevitable now that circumstances had stepped in to change their relationship.

"Does anyone live here now?" she asked.

"No. I use the boat for travel sometimes. It still hauls cargo when I am not using it." He indicated the plates on the table, "Choose what you like."

Emily started removing the cloth covers from the plates. There was some bread with a small crock of butter on one, another held cold slices of meat, the third held a block of cheese and some vegetables sliced up. She started to butter a piece of the bread, holding the knife up with the butter, "Aren't you afraid I'll do some damage with the butter knife?"

He looked momentarily like he had taken a bite of something distasteful. "I do not understand your propensity towards violence, is America still so savage?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "No, it's just that I don't usually get abducted as a daily routine."

"Madame, I have told you before, it is for me to take care of things of this nature not you."

"Why?" she asked around a bite of cheese.

"Why?" Momentarily bewildered he responded, "Because the man is to take care of the woman. Do they not do it this way in America?"

"Yes, they do."

"Then it is my position to make sure that nothing will happen to you." She started to speak but he interrupted, "And I expect that if something were to happen, there will be no more incidence of attacking men with bottles and hat pins!"

She took a sip of wine, "Listen, I appreciate the efforts you are making, but a woman has to defend herself."

"I absolutely forbid it," his voice grew louder, "you will only anger a man and the situation will be worse for you."

She thought for a moment, "So, I should do nothing at all."

"Correct." He was satisfied that she was going to obey his instructions.

In a quiet voice she added, "Even if someone were to try to force me.."

Emily watched the emotion drain from his face. His eye pierced her, his hand resting near his wine flexed into a fist. He took a breath as if to speak but stopped.

At his worst moments, the hell of despair and the endless emptiness of loneliness, when he could be an animal more than a man, he would never resort to forcing a woman. He could not understand how any man would do such a thing. God had fashioned them petite and weaker for a reason. To use the superior strength of his body to take a woman against her desires would be an act that made him feel sick to even contemplate.

"Emily," his voice was strangely broken, "I would kill anyone who did that to you." He sat looking at her, wishing he could make her understand she was something precious. A woman who treated him like any other man, not the ugly creature other people saw.

For a moment Emily felt he would do as he had said. Her gut feeling was that what he was telling her was more than just an impassioned response. That he would be able to kill someone. She remembered his words in the study, about the man he was when she saw him thus, 'accustomed to the violence,' he had said. Had he left that behind to elevate himself to Monsieur De La Shaumette? She wanted to change the subject, this was almost painful. "Alain called you 'Martin', was that your name?"

"That is the name I was called." He had other names, but none he would tell her.

She smiled briefly. "Are you going to tell me what today's little adventure has been about?"

"When I originally sent Javier back to Jumieges to raise the boat, we hoped to be able to find out why it started to sink. Going over the cargo he found two crates that were not on the manifest. It appeared that they had been pushed to the back of the hold, near to the damaged spot. As Phillipe traced who had had access to the boat that day, Trahan's name came up." He stopped to refill their wine. "You must understand that most of the men will add to their income by doing a little transporting on the side."

"What about the customs between the other countries and France?"

"Some of the officers will take bribes. It is their way of adding to their pockets a part of what will be paid for the contraband. And, at times they are just too busy to check every area of the boats. As long as things are kept low key, people will turn a blind eye to it."

He took a piece of cheese and continued, "When the attack happened in Paris, we had two additional clues; the doctor bill with the initials and the crew members that were all in that area that night. Phillipe traced the crew, finding Trahan again, and Javier brought me the bill that had been initialed for payment by Giles Charbonneau. Giles, as you know, works for Denis Chalin who Dugast and I use as our lawyer. It followed that Giles would know the boat schedule, and he was our note writer."

Emily sat resting her chin in one hand, listening to the entire story unfolded. "This is better than the plots in one of those Penney Dreadful novels," she said.

He looked at her curiously, "What is a 'dred-fel'?"

"Um, it's like the story in the paper that Phillipe and I are reading. They are usually mysteries and are printed every week. They print them in a small book, so the cost is cheap so that everyone will buy them."

"Like the story with your Sir Henry?" he asked in a sardonic voice.

She giggled. "Yes, my Sir Henry." She reached down to take off her shoes. It was funny how he would remember something like that. But listening to him recount all of the clues he had found only exemplified how he wove the little strings he had followed into this elaborate tapestry. "So how does Trahan connect to Giles Charbonneau?"

"I found information that Trahan was moving contraband at that point. He must have been hired by Charbonneau before he was fully employed by De La Shaumette. Now, the connection that I had to wait to find was who had been to Paris to see him, and have the power to promise the bill would be paid, bringing it to Charbonneau."

"And that would be Blaise Gaultier? Because of his father's name they would allow him to make good on the doctor's bill?"

"Exactly. It was only after you had challenged Giles Charbonneau about the note, and he confessed that it was for the sister's benefit that we were sure that Blaise Gaultier was involved." Outside the church bells struck, echoing across the river. Erik got up and put the cork back into the bottle. "It is late, Madame. You should go to sleep. There will be time to finish the tale tomorrow."

Emily got up from the table, retrieving her shoes. "Are you going to come back tomorrow?"

He shook his head, "I am staying." He gestured towards the deck floor, "I've slept in worse places."

She looked askance at him, "Are you sure?"

His only reply was to stand looking at her. Emily shook her head, "You are one stubborn man."

"Thank you, Madame," he said gravely.

"That isn't necessarily a compliment, Monsieur Martin."

"Erik." He wanted to hear her say his name. It seemed absurdly important after the kiss on the stair. He wanted to be able to close his eyes and hear her voice saying his name.

"Erik?" He was looking at her again, the way he had not long ago the night she had gone out for the cat. The intense almost fierce look a man has when he is about to approach a woman. She smiled shyly, "Monsieur, you make me blush." And she did.

It was all that he needed. His hands reached to frame her face gently; he closed the distance between them slowly gauging her acceptance of his touch, and brought his lips down to hers.


	19. Erik

**A/N: **..counting down the days till school resumes? The summer was way too short! Welcome aboard newest reviews and hello to everyone who is keeping up with the story. Hope this leaves you happy. I got to smile while I wrote it.**  
**

**Chapter Nineteen: Erik**

She smiled shyly, "Monsieur, you make me blush." And she did.

It was all that he needed. His hands reached to frame her face gently; he closed the distance between them slowly gauging her acceptance of his touch, and brought his lips down to hers.

Her lips opened as he heard her breath catch, he could taste the wine on her lips. One hand slid behind her neck, he felt her hand move to his waist. He slid his tongue into her mouth, slowly moving it against hers.

Emily felt her limbs melting; she braced a hand on his waist to keep herself from falling. She felt hot where his hands rested on her, and the movement of his tongue was making things happen to her inside. She hadn't felt this way with a man in years, the feeling of being consumed and worshiped at the same moment. She vaguely realized there was something in her other hand, and dropped her shoes, bringing the other hand up to grasp his waist. She wanted to hang on as his silken exploration of her mouth continued.

He felt her other hand, it inched along his back following the valley along his spine. His breathing was getting ragged. He withdrew from her long enough to get a lungful of air. He dropped a hand to hers; he raised it to his lips and kissed her open palm. He watched her face as she stared, transfixed, as he placed light kisses on her fingertips, letting his teeth graze them gently.

Emily watched him turn his cheek into her hand; she felt the whiskers brush her palm. She gained control of it and ran her hand into his hair. His lips found hers again. The world was starting to fall away; the only thing that existed was this moment, this man, and the exquisite connection they shared. His arms encircled her and slowly brought their bodies together. She felt small and soft as the length of her body molded itself to the intense heat and hardness of his.

Erik reveled in the feel of her body as she drew breaths, it moved against him eliciting more of a response from him than he had ever experienced. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a noise. It was a key in the cabin door. He withdrew from her mouth, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her face registered a dazed look. "Our chaperone has arrived," he breathed.

Good lord, this man was making her crazy. Confused, she realized what he had said. "Javier?" she asked.

He let out a deep breath, "As luck would have it," he said. Perhaps it was fortuitous; instinct told him he would not have stopped otherwise. While reveling in that heady exploration, he knew without a doubt that she was responding to his kiss. Emily was no shrinking virgin; she was a passionate woman who knew what awaited her.

Javier opened the door; Erik and Emily were standing together looking like sleepers that had just awakened. Noting her shoes on the floor he quipped, "Well, looking for another cat?"

"No," she said, "just saying good night." She smiled at the man she would now think of as Erik.

Javier dropped a tied up roll of blankets on the deck and offered Emily a small bag. "I got Livy to pack a few things for you to clean up with." In the bag were her comb and some toiletries.

"Thanks, Javier."

"We couldn't sneak out another dress," he said apologetically. "If anyone was watching the apartment; they would only see me stop by."

"What did you tell Livy and Perrine?"

"They were ready to call in the gendarmes! I told them we had taken you first, so they need to keep up the appearance of relying on De La Shaumette to find you."

She noted the bit about being taken first, was there supposed to be another kidnapping? "Do things ever get dull in Rouen?"

Erik answered, "Not from now on, I think."

As Emily withdrew to the partition, Javier stuck his head in. "Things going alright?" he asked.

She knew he was making sure that what was transpiring between her and Erik was up to her liking. This brash Spanish Romeo was fast moving into the position her brothers would have filled. "Yes, things are alright."

She took off her skirt and blouse, lying down in her camisole and petticoat. Closing her eyes, she listened to the sound of the boat and the river. Sleep came to steal her away from the world, promising dreams of a gentle kiss.

* * *

Earlier in the afternoon Giles Charbonneau gathered up the finished contracts and handed them to Phillipe Robillard. "Everything went smoothly," he commented. "The latest additions to the English Customs forms simplified the transaction."

"Excellent," Phillipe replied with a smile. "Monsieur will be most pleased, especially after the last shipment."

"Ah, yes. That would have been most unfortunate for M. De La Shaumette if the machines had been lost."

Phillipe shook his head, his lips a thin line. "It was bad enough the boat was damaged, but," he added in a lower voice, "we have all been most fortunate that Madame was not harmed. My sister Sophie is fast becoming a good friend to her." He watched Charbonneau's reaction so far. "And," he added, "you know Monsieur's reputation. He would not rest until who ever had harmed her would have been brought to justice."

Phillipe enjoyed adding, "The gossips along the docks tell of men who have crossed De La Shaumette disappear." He paused and looked around quickly. "But, of course, those are just stories! No one has ever proved Monsieur of any wrong doing." Giles eyes now seemed to have gotten wider. He bid Giles a good afternoon and left with a smile on his face.

* * *

Blaise Gaultier was taking care of the last paperwork of the day when one of his Father's assistants came into the office. "Monsieur, there was a fellow outside who said to give this to you." In his hand was a folded up piece of paper.

Blaise took the note, opening it he saw in childish scrawl:

_Someone else pays more. We have her. Be at number 37 Rue de Rennes tomorrow at dusk. Bring 500 francs. I'll tell De La Shaumette if you don't._

He crushed the note in his hand, swearing vehemently. He glanced at the surprised assistant. "Sorry, just found out I lost a bet." Apparently Trahan was not as dim witted as he appeared.

* * *

"Everything going well," Erik asked.

Javier nodded, "As I told Emily, Livy and Perrine were almost beside themselves. Their landlady checked around and someone had seen Trahan and the carriage, so the abduction story should be going around."

"Good. If Trahan has carried out his part, Blaise will have the ransom note." They stepped outside the cabin.

"How did she take it?" Javier asked.

Erik made a face, "I'll have a bruise on the top of my foot." He told Javier about the abduction, "I got back to the boat as she had stabbed Trahan with her hat pin and was going to hit him with a Brandy bottle."

Javier laughed heartily, "What else would you expect? You should ask her about her brother, you two got off easy." He laughed some more, "I'll be back with your breakfast." He climbed up onto his horse. "Oh, and be careful if she starts throwing shoes." Laughing he left.

Erik wondered about the shoe throwing comment. How violent did her fights with her brother get? Since he had never had a family he could not even hazard a guess.

Returning to the cabin he sat at the table, replaying the moment he had had with Emily. He wanted to weave a slow seduction, from her response she seemed to be willing. His deepest instincts told him that he would have to pursue her, to woo her, to get her to trust him.

If things became more intimate, the time would come when she would ask questions. He wanted her feelings and her trust before he told her anything. He couldn't loose her.

He rolled out the blankets on the floor and extinguished the lamps. He walked quietly to the bunk area. In the dark he could hear her breathing, slow and even in her sleep. She was curled up on top of the blanket, one arm tucked under the pillow. As he watched her sleep, he heard the song again; he hoped that she could hear it too.

* * *

Emily awoke when she heard her name. She smelled coffee and felt a presence in the room with her. She pulled a hand out from under her pillow and covered her face. "Don't look you'll be turned to stone," she managed to mumble.

Erik smiled; she did look quite disheveled with her hair spread out on the pillow. Her petticoat was twisted around her calves. She looked warm and soft. "I'll remember that," he said.

Emily looked up, "Is that coffee?"

"Yes, I'll set it her for you." He sat it next to the bunk on the small cupboard. "Javier should be by shortly with breakfast for us." He retreated from the bunk room.

Emily lay on her back for a moment. The coffee smelled so good, she finally convinced her body to sit up and reach for it. Pushing herself up against the back wall, she sat with the cup in both hands and concentrated on keeping her eyes opened. It must be because of all that dreaming she did. "Sorry Sir Henry, I think you've been replaced."

After a few sips she managed to get up and gather her bag. Cleaning up in the small water closet, she came out to put her skirt and blouse back on. She then brushed her hair. Picking up her cup, she walked out into the cabin area.

She noted the rolled up blankets on the floor, "Did you manage to get some sleep?"

Erik nodded, "Did you?" It had occurred to him when he finally lay down last night, that after their kiss, she might be nervous being alone with him.

"Yes, I guess I was more tired than I thought."

They had another cup of coffee, and Javier arrived with a basket full of bread, jam, butter, fruit and boiled eggs. They sat at the small table while he leaned against the cupboards and helped himself to a cup of coffee.

"You said you would finish the story today," she said to Erik.

He was spreading jam on another slice of bread. "Yes, we stopped at where we guessed that Blaise Gaultier was the connection to the bill and back to Trahan. After we put the pieces together is when I asked you to meet with Jules Gaultier. It was still possible that it could be his doing. You talked to Giles and he implicated Blaise. While this was going on, I hunted down Trahan on one of the boats and got him to tell me what he knew of their actions." He stopped to take a bite of the bread. "It appears that you caused quite a stir with Blaise, and that he had approached Trahan with money to have you kidnapped."

"That louse," she commented. "I could tell from looking at him he'd be trouble."

He finished chewing another bite of bread, "Why do you say that?"

She shrugged. "Woman's intuition." She saw the superior look on his face. She pointed a finger at him, "Don't give me that look. A lot of times that intuition is right."

Javier nodded, "My Mother swears by it. She knew more times than I can count when any of us were in trouble."

She thought back, "It's how I knew I was being followed that night when you met Monsieur Colt," she drawled.

Erik and Javier looked at each other, "I told you," Javier said. He reached for an egg, "Damned spooky sometimes."

Erik began the story again, "I decided that since Trahan was set to kidnap you, that we would assist him. I also convinced him working for De La Shaumette's interests would get him farther than smuggling for Blaise Gaultier. So, we kidnap you, Trahan sends a note to Blaise yesterday saying that he had you, but was going to go to De La Shaumette if Blaise didn't pay ransom for you, and that we will meet at the warehouse tonight to hand you over to Blaise."

"Why was he kidnapping me?"

"First, I think he believed that you had not told me about the note and second, that it would keep me busy looking for you. The reason he wants to distract me is uncertain at this point. That is why I am having Phillipe invite Jules Gaultier to the warehouse as well tonight. I want all of the principles there, and the situation resolved."

"Am I to be there as well?"

"No Madame," he pronounced with finality. "Business is the province of men. You have no part in my decision."

Emily felt stunned, her brows rising, "I have no part in this?"

"No Madame, I said you had no part in my _decision_," he pointed the butter knife at her, "before you start sputtering remember, it was my boat that had to be recovered, and my loss for damaged cargo." He continued to butter the bread.

"You don't even want to know what I found out about the sister?"

"She may have been the impetus to start this sad farce, but these men will pay for their actions against me." He took a sip of coffee, "Your tender hearted opinions behind their motivations will not sway me from a course for justice."

She was about to protest, but realized she would have pleaded their case for Phalene Gaultier. He'd called her bluff on this one, but she wanted to know what he was planning. She spoke aloud in English, "Just wish I could go too," she huffed.

His expression took on that sharpened focus. "French, Madame," he instructed gruffly. It was vital to him to understand everything she was saying.

She gave him a pointed look. If he could keep secrets, so could she, "Look it up in your French and English dictionary."

He gingerly put his coffee cup down, holding on to his suddenly escalating temper. "Have you been snooping around in my study," he said with a voice dripping indignation.

"I don't have to _snoop_, it's right on your bookshelf," she tossed back, mildly offended. Emmaline Griggs did not _snoop_! "I was just hoping to see some of your books. I borrow books when I can."

He felt his teeth grind. His privacy was of paramount importance. "Why don't you procure some of your own," he asked in icy civility.

"Because libraries won't let women borrow books. A man has to do it." She hated to admit that, but tossed one last barb at him, "It's really the only reason I can think of for having a man around."

Erik felt his temper slipping another notch, but noticed how she was avoiding looking at him. Oh, Emily, I know that you know better than that. He poured every ounce of sensual challenge he could into his voice, "Really. I thought a man had other uses." He stared pointedly at her mouth. "Do you want me," he paused ever so slightly and looked at her eyes, "to do that for you?"

Emily was glad her arms were resting on the table. As she heard that mellifluous masculine challenge, she felt she could melt right off of the stool into a puddle on the floor. If she thought him capable of magic before, her body confirmed it now. It seemed her brain had already turned to ooze, because she couldn't think of a witty retort. So she licked her lips.

Erik watched the small pink tip of her tongue and remembered the moist, warm depths he had explored with his own. God give me strength, he thought. Emily, you saucy little wench, I'm going to make you pay for that, he swore.

Emily got up from the table and headed towards the partition. She grabbed her bag and came back to the table. "Thank you for breakfast. Can I leave now?"

Erik got up from the table. "You will stay. I am leaving." He nodded to Javier and left the cabin.

Emily and Javier both looked to the other for some explanation of what he had in mind. "Emily, I have no idea what he is up to now."


	20. Judgment

**Chapter Twenty: Judgment**

Erik had spent the day turning over in his mind the kind of punishment to fit the actions of Blaise Gaultier and Giles Charbonneau. They had Trahan transport Absinthe to England. Because of deaths, the government was cracking down on its use. Artist, writers, and performers all believed it enhanced their creativity, and would do anything to secure a bottle of Le Fee Verte as it was called. Surely this would give them cash, but not in sufficient amounts to buy one of Jules Gaultier's boats. Had they planned to get the boat and run larger quantities? They were inexperienced enough they might have believed they could get away with it.

The other option was to have the boat to assure a supply of something coming in to France. Emily had mentioned the sister. Perhaps it was a supply for her. Laudanum was cheaper than alcohol in most places, and though frowned upon, was freely used. She must be using the stronger Opium.

France and England had joined forces twice to fight wars over the availability of the drug. In the 50's an international settlement had been established in Shanghai to oversee twenty ports to assure the supply left China. According to the papers, England controlled the drug, and Parliament was moving to restricting its use to those registered opium smokers who could not survive without it. Was that why they needed it for the sister?

In regards to their crime, they had cost him to wages of a crew, damaged cargo, and the fees for having a steam-shovel rigged to help pull up the boat as pumps worked to pull out the water it had taken on. Getting the boat back into shape and hauling again had only taken two days. The businesses that sent cargo through him were happy to resume shipping.

Trahan was in his employ, and although the young man was new to the boats, he was showing signs of promise. He really couldn't view Trahan as the villain in this, just inexperienced and eager to take on some cash.

That brought him back to Blaise Gaultier and Giles Charbonneau. He could deal harshly with them, turning them over to the gendarmes. He could ruin both their careers by insisting they be fired without references. But he wanted the money he had spent to repair the boat back. Any of those choices would have bolstered his reputation. But what he had decided upon was the most logical course of action.

* * *

Emily and Javier wiled away the morning playing dominoes that Javier had found in the cupboard. When they started loosing interest in the game, Javier taught Emily a few very randy French drinking songs.

"You know," Emily said conspiratorially, "we should sing these in his study sometime. He'd have a seizure!"

Javier did he best to look stern, "Now Madame, you know that would not at all be proper behavior."

Emily laughed, "I am renowned for misbehaving. Haven't you heard about my escape attempt?"

"Yes, I did. And I must say I am proud of you. You need to give that man a challenge."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Emily, everyone is afraid of the great and mysterious De La Shaumette," he gestured grandly. "He needs a few people around him that remind him he is a man, and nothing more."

She remembered last night, he was definitely a man. "He told me last night his name is Erik."

Javier seemed surprised. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. I think that is who he really is. Charles Martin was only a way to get what he was after. Does he tell you anything about the mask?"

"No," she replied. "I would not impose like that. People are who or what they are, until they have the power to change themselves. Sometimes things can not be changed."

"I have never seen his whole face. I was coming back to the boat one night; he was inside working on something and must have taken the mask off. He reached up and covered his face, telling me to get out. I can remember the anguish in his voice. I waited outside until he came out later. We have never spoken of that night."

They sat for a while, and then started singing.

* * *

The gold chain of his watch crossed over the brown and gold threaded vest. A pair of gold cuff links peaked from under the wrists of his jacket and a large diamond pin accented his cravat. Satisfied with his reflection in the mirror, Erik made his way to the study.

He acknowledged a knock at the door, and Javier came into the room. He glanced up from his desk. "You dropped off Madame Griggs?"

"Yes," Javier replied.

"Was she angry," he asked.

"No. Disappointed I think. Anyone can get angry. Emily is offended by being thought of as brainless."

Erik glanced at him sharply, "I do not treat her as if she were brainless."

"No, if you felt that was the case you would have sent her back to America. But I think you could have listened to her opinions."

"Are you questioning my decisions, Javier?"

Javier shook his head. He knew from the sound of Erik's voice that he was treading a knife edge. "No Monsieur. I have always accepted your decisions."

"Then keep that thought in your head Spaniard. If it were not for me you would still be a river rat hauling cargo to Belgium and back."

"For that my family and I are in your debt, always. Phillipe and I both are thankful for the opportunities you give us. You are an intelligent man, Monsieur. But you lack a quiet heart."

A spark ran through Erik's body. The look of joy on Emily's face in the dream, _A quiet heart _she had said.

"There," Javier pointed towards Erik's head. "There are always thoughts running through your mind. Watching you is like standing at the edge of a storm. You can't think your way through everything, sometimes you have to listen with a quiet heart."

This was the sort of nonsense people wrote in books. Letting his heart guide him had lost Christine to another man, and Paris an Opera House. His music lay in ashes in the cold damp of the home where he hid from the world. All he had hoped to offer the world languished in darkness. "You are suggesting that I temper my decisions with the kind hearted opinions of a woman, Javier?"

"We haven't worked with Emily for long. I was surprised that you even dealt with her at all, really. I am just saying don't cut off her opinions because you think she is trying to sway you. Emily does not use her femininity that way. She is a business woman, or Remington would not have put faith in her abilities. Don't loose an asset because it wears a skirt, Monsieur."

This business had to be dealt with his way. He did not need her there to temper his anger. He'd pushed the anger aside, and studied the situation like a jeweler studies a gem. One cut here, another there, and the he would create something flawless from an otherwise useless lump. Erik had spent years turning situations to his advantage, this one would be resolved in the same way.

* * *

Blaise and Giles arrived at the warehouse at Number 37. It had only one large door with a smaller man-sized door cut in it for the workers to enter. Going inside, they paused momentarily to let their eyes adjust to the dim light from the top of the walls. Rows of crates marched off from where they entered; sitting on one of the closer crates with a small lantern was Alain Trahan.

"Do you have the money?" Trahan asked.

Blaise stalked over to where Trahan waited. "Do you really think you can do this to me?" Following close behind was Giles. The other man turned to glance over his shoulder as he thought he felt a gust of air at his back. "Where is Madame Griggs?"

"She's nearby, where's the money?" Trahan repeated.

Blaise offered a wallet to Trahan, "Here it is. If you are lying to me, I'll spend the next 500 francs having you beaten."

Trahan looked the soul of innocence, he pulled off his cap. "Not me" he gestured into the shadows behind him.

Out of a branching aisle of crates stepped Phillipe Robillard and Jules Gaultier. "Monsieur Trahan has wisely decided to change sides." Phillipe told Trahan, "You may go now. Be at the boat in the morning."

Walking past the other men, Trahan left the wallet of money on the crate. He slipped out of the door as Javier Fernandez came in.

Phillipe asked Jules Gaultier, "Are you satisfied, Monsieur?"

"Yes," he replied, "the boat is yours for the price you offered."

Blaise felt his stomach turn to lead. He would not humble himself for the way things had happened, but he would make his Father understand. "Father," he implored, "we were doing it for Phalene! You cannot order her to stop the drugs; she doesn't have the strength for that. She watched Mama, watched her slowly dying each day. She listened as you lied! You all lied to her, telling her Mama would get better. She saw what the drugs did for Mama. She only wanted that bliss, that escape from pain."

Jules replied, "I know, Blaise. She was young and we thought she would not understand what was happening. That is my sin in all of this, trying to protect her. And now you have sinned as well. I love you my son, but I cannot allow you to kill your sister one grain of Opium at a time." He told Phillipe, "I swore to dismiss anyone who would supply her with the drug." He turned back to Blaise, "And so I keep my promise, you are dismissed from my service, Blaise."

Momentarily stunned, Blaise did not feel Giles hand on his shoulder. When he did he turned in the direction Giles was looking.

Down another aisle of crates a form waited in the darkness, its restrained stillness sending dread up Giles Charbonneau's spine. "Gentlemen," the greeting whispered from the darkness.

The man stood in the failing light from the windows atop the warehouse walls revealing a wraithlike white expanse floating at head height. Giles knew who it had to be. He had heard the stories from the other legal assistants at Chalin's office. The shape must be the mask, the mythical mask attributed to De La Shaumette. He turned to Blaise who stood rigid, his temper threatening to explode. In a resigned voice he spoke, "Blaise, its over."

Blaise cast a withering glare at his friend. "No it isn't. I'm not finished yet."

"Ah, Monsieur Gaultier, we have not had the pleasure, although your companion can tell you who I am," the figure moved.

"This is Monsieur De La Shaumette," Giles said quietly.

Blaise tried to make out more of the man who stood a few scant feet from him. He gave a curt nod, "I had heard Monsieur never leaves his home."

"I travel as I wish." The voice was a slow taunt.

Stopping inside of the shadows, Erik examined both of the men before him. Giles had the forethought to accept his fate, but Blaise Gaultier stood rigid, his face revealing none of his thoughts. Erik nodded to Giles, "Monsieur, we have already made arrangements for M. Chalin to let you go for a period of three months," he looked back to Blaise, "and you appear to no longer be employed."

Blaise finally spoke, "What do you have planned for us?"

"Planned? Ah, you have learned the value of things being planned already?" Erik could not help tossing that barb to the young pup. Emily's intuition was correct; he radiated far too much self importance. He would have to keep a watchful eye on Blaise.

"Your actions have cost me quite a bit of money, money which you will repay." He gestured towards Jules Gaultier, "Since M. Gaultier has agreed to my offer, it now appears my fortunes are set to increase with the addition of another boat. I have decided that the two of you, with the help of Alain Trahan will work for me to repay your debt. How long it takes you will of course depend on how quick you are to learn, and how well you make deals for more cargo."

"You can't make us do that without our consent," Blaise interrupted, although Giles was studying law, Blaise knew enough to protest.

Erik heard the challenge in the boy's voice, he moved to the edge of the light. His voice became low and threatening, "It's you choice. Work off your debt or go to prison for attempted murder."

Giles looked panicked, Blaise now looked unsure of his footing. "There was no intent to murder," he stated.

"That is your view. A court might see it differently," Erik replied, his voice a stinging whip. "Trahan's panic at being found with the absinthe and the damage to the boat could have cost three people their lives." His voice turned acid, "Your unmitigated stupidity and lack of _planning_," he accentuated the word, "your careless actions, done with utter contempt of any consequences cannot be wiped away by your gallant attempt to help your sister."

He turned away from them, anger still burning like bile in his throat. They could have killed Emily. The thought of her slowly dying as the river filled her lungs made him feel ill. He turned to look at Javier who stepped forward. "This is Monsieur Fernandez. He will take you to where the boat is moored. You will return there tomorrow morning ready to leave," he turned on them, his voice turning to thunder, "or so help me God I will hunt you down, chain you to an anchor, and drop you into the Seine!"

He hovered on the edge of the dim light, while he watched the color drain out of their faces. They may think that they could have taken on De La Shaumette, but they could never best _Erik_.

Jules Gaultier and Phillipe joined the two men. Gaultier embraced his son and Giles before they turned to follow Javier out the door. Jules then turned to Erik. "I cannot repay you for the chance you have given them, Monsieur." He offered his hand, "You have only to ask, and I will do what I can." Erik stepped into the light and shook his hand with a firm grip.

Erik regarded the man before him. Was this what a Father was like? How different a man would he have been if he had a Father to give him love, to offer a strong hand to him? How much sacrifice would a Father make for his children? He had no children of his own, but would he love any of them any less than this man loved his?

"Take care of your daughter, Monsieur. She will need all of your strength to get away from the drug." He turned to Phillipe, "Escort Monsieur Gaultier to his carriage."

* * *

Sitting at the piano, he worked for hours on the music. As page after page was filled with notes, another stanza came to mind. He dropped the pages with the wet ink notes on them in a circle around him on the floor. He stopped when he was running out of room. Glancing at the clock, it was nearly three a.m.

He still felt energized, as the world slept there was no interruption but the mantle clock. In the darkness the music became something tangible. It became water, cooling and gently caressing, or air, floating around him. It took on smells and tastes offering a banquet to his senses.

After the loss of his music, after the long years on the river, he was finally coming back to the ecstasy the music gave him. His soul such as it was would fly, free of the earthly flesh. This was the only drug he would indulge in, the only mistress he could never deny. This was the part of him that God must have granted in return for the ruin of his face and the sad existence he had lived.

He left the piano bench and began to lift up the sheets of music, putting them in order he would lock them in his desk along with his manuscript; the two parts of his life, his music and his story. Together they were a picture of a complex man, a man he wanted the world to understand. A man who had finally brought triumph out of the tragedy of long years spent in despair.

On the return trip from the warehouse, he had Phillipe drop off a note to Emily. Tomorrow when she came he would be ready to announce his intent to court her.


	21. Andante

**Chapter Twenty-One: _Andante_**

Putting on his vest, he fastened on cuff links and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Going to the wardrobe for his coat, he stopped to sit on the edge of the bed. On his dresser rested a black lacquered Chinese box. Turning it around, he pushed one edge while using another finger to press on one of the mother-of-pearl carvings on the face. From the back, a small door swung open, he withdrew a velvet covered box. Opening it, he retrieved Christine's ring. He turned it in his fingers a moment, then wrapped it in his palm and placed his hands together over it, touching them to his forehead as a man would in prayer.

"Christine," he whispered softly, "if you can hear me, I need you to help me." He paused a moment, picturing his thoughts leaving the room, winding their way through the air to where she was. "I've found someone Christine," he opened his hands and spoke to the ring. "She's what I think I have searched for. She's coming here today, and I want to tell her. I want to keep her, I want to marry her." He closed his eyes, "Help me, if you can. I don't want to die alone, Christine."

He sat the ring in its case, turning it towards him so he could still see it as it rested on the velvet. "Her name is Emily. She threatened to shoot me the first time I saw her. She kissed me, Christine. And she calls me _Dar-lenn_. Of course, that took several weeks. And I did carry her off, but that was for her own good." He swore for a moment the ring became brighter, "Are you laughing at that? She laughs at me, too." He touched the case again, "Thank you, angel." He closed the case and held it for a moment, before slipping it back into the secret door.

* * *

Erik glanced at the clock as he entered the study, by now Giles, Blaise and Alain Trahan would be on their way to their first port. He had found that Jules Gaultier was a fair man, and he agreed to an almost obscenely small amount for the boat, in exchange for teaching his son a lesson.

Experience being an apt teacher, they would come away with calluses on their hands, tired backs, and a better opinion of the men who did it as a living. They would understand from the inside the intricacies of why contracts were bid as they were, and how to keep the crews working. Within three months they should come away better men than had stood in the warehouse last night. Better men that would hopefully learn to be loyal to him.

He had talked briefly to Jules Gaultier. Since he was paying a ridiculously small amount for the boat he had been magnanimous and offered Gaultier one of the unsold typewriters from the next shipment. It was the least he could do, and if Gaultier's office personnel liked it, perhaps Emily would have some more converts to her typewriters.

Madame Griggs. In a little over an hour she would be arriving.

* * *

Emily put on the same skirt and blouse that she had worn the first night to De La Shaumette's house for their meeting. She pulled her hair back into a ribbon, and added a pair of small ear rings and a bracelet. After dressing, she called for a cab.

Arriving on time, she popped into the house and greeted Etienne and Agnes. As always they seemed glad to see her. She couldn't help but think it was probably because things had gotten interesting around the house since her arrival.

She followed Etienne up to the study, and waited for him to usher her through the door. As usual, Erik was seated at his desk, and arose when she entered. "Good Afternoon," she said.

"Madame," he gestured towards the chair before the desk. Once again the elegantly attired gentleman, his dark frock coat relieved by a jewel toned blue vest, the white mask in place. "I have asked you here so that I could inform you of the events yesterday at the warehouse."

Emily glanced down at her hands, "That isn't necessary."

Erik searched her eyes, "You are not the least bit curious? And here I believed all women were curious creatures."

"I didn't say I wasn't curious," she replied, "only that it wasn't necessary."

"I see. You must have great faith in my judgment then, Madame Griggs."

She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, "The damage was to your property, Monsieur."

"Yes, but you want to know what I did with those three gentlemen don't you?" He affected an insinuation into his voice. She had to be curious.

"Not really," she replied blandly.

For a moment he was speechless, but there was something in the way she was looking at him. "What game is this?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

Her eyes went a little wider, "Game? Are we playing a game?"

He rested his chin on his fist a sat examining her. "You are far too casual about this, Madame. This is some sort of retribution for my not hearing your opinions isn't it?" His voice was getting louder.

Like the old ships meeting on an ocean, Emily silently noted that her last shot had crossed his bow and the war was on.

Erik knew she was curious, very well. "You naughty little minx," he purred slowly.

She watched his eyes change from annoyance to an almost sensual challenge. Oh, drat! The first cannon shot, and the boat was already taking on water.

She let out a protracted sigh. "If you want to tell me, I'd be more than happy to listen," she said. Ha ha! The ship may be sinking, but the crew shall leap across and take yours!

He started to speak but she cut him off, "Of course, you keep sooooo many secrets. Here I sit just never capable of keeping up with you." Avast you dogs! Beware the hat pins!

His eyebrow quirked and he opened his mouth again, "Go on!" she said lifting a hand. "Don't be shy! I'm prepared to listen," she said with a knowing nod. That's right, surrender your sword, the ship is ours!

Erik waited to see if she was going to interrupt again. He let out a dramatic sigh, "I suppose you will extort chocolates out of me for this."

That's right! Chocolates for the entire crew, and throw in a bottle of Brandy! Emily smiled genuinely, "Maybe you should invest in a chocolate shop."

The room seemed to be heating up, his mouth was getting dry. Emily was in her playful mood. Playful was good wasn't it? She would be more receptive, wouldn't she? It was time. Taking a deep breath he stood and gestured towards the piano, "Would you please sit here?"

Emily moved to the bench and waited for him to start telling the story of the warehouse meeting. Erik struggled to keep his breathing even. First we must remove the reasons for her arguments, he thought. Without those reasons to support her, she must agree to his pursuit. "Tell me why you will not re-marry."

Emily couldn't have been more surprised if he had reached out and slapped her. She tried to collect her thoughts, where could she start? "I suppose I can answer that." He stood as rigidly still as he had the first night that she had been here in the darkened study.

"Madame, it is my intention to court you." It sounded like someone else's voice. This was going wrong, unraveling. He had hoped for some logic he could adapt to his advantage. For some reason he could not pull enough air into his lungs. He realized it was because he had stopped breathing. He had no way of knowing that Emily was suffering the same symptom.

Javier, you were right, she told herself. In the back of her mind, something prodded her to speak. "Oh." That's just perfect Emily. "My." Why isn't my tongue working? She touched her hand to her lips hoping some higher power would give her back her ability to speak.

He saw her shaking hand. His body felt as if he was turning to stone. Downward into the darkness, this time a darkness with no hope of light. He had done this wrongly; he was going to die alone.

Erik felt something inside dying, a slow, sad change that drained his soul out of him leaving a numbing cold in its wake. Summoning what courage he had left he spoke, "I am sorry, I am frightening you." He turned away from her, facing the window. His hands were locked at his sides.

"No," she said, coming back to some semblance of consciousness. She shook her head, "Yes, I am frightened." He had turned away from her, putting the masked side of his face between them. Emily only realized at that moment that it was one of the things she had noticed before. It was his shield. When he was angry, or when he took on that impersonal look, he turned the mask towards the person. She got to her feet, stepping towards the other window.

Was this what she wanted? She'd had taken a chance coming to France, was it time to take another? She turned towards him. The mask made it next to impossible to read his expression, except for the firm line of his lips, and the eye, fixed out the window. "Look at me," she pleaded softly. He might have been carved of stone; he was refusing to look at her. She reached out tentatively, "I want to talk to Erik. Not the mask." His head swung sharply, his eyes glittered dangerously. "You talk to people when you're courting, not shut them out," she said gently.

The words tumbled out of the darkness, _when you're courting_….. He heard it again and again, it pulsed in a rhythm with the beating wings of hope as it hovered inside him, trapped but buffeting the dark walls to break free.

When he said nothing, she continued, "You know when people fall in love they don't do it thinking that it will ever end. I didn't when I met William." She clasped her hands together hoping they would stop shaking. "We started changing, somehow, and then it was so clear that we had been two different people. After that it just seemed like watching actors on a stage, it was happening to someone else, not to me."

She closed her eyes, hearing her heart beating so loudly. "That is what frightens me," she looked at him, hoping he could read what she felt through her eyes rather than rely upon the meandering words she was saying. "I was so sure."

Erik had never seen this expression on her face before. His Madame Griggs was not this lost, helpless looking woman. He didn't want to ever see that look on her face again. He wanted to wrap her in all the protection he could offer her.

She smiled for a second, "I'm kind of a fearless idiot sometimes, but falling in love again is what really scares me. I need time."

Erik could see it in her eyes. An emotion so close to his own after his loss of Christine, it threatened to shackle him and leave him incapable of thought or action. The feeling of being cut adrift, vulnerable to the whims of an ocean on the edge of eternity.

He was watching her now, accepting what she was saying. It was time to pose the one problem that was the real cause of not marrying again. "There is one thing that I must tell you. In all those years of marriage I never conceived. I don't think I can give you any children." If he was going to balk at not being a father, she wanted to give him the chance to decide now to withdraw his suit.

He knew now why Javier had refused to tell him. A barren woman was like a well with no water. To most men she would be useless. She would not have the quality that would make her worthy of being loved. His heart twisted at the unfairness of this loving woman never having the chance to be a mother. How she must suffer in quiet misery in a world that would consider her less than a woman for a condition that was not her choice. _Like my face_.

"Emily," he began quietly, "I don't care." He didn't. With her kiss and the casual touch she had bestowed upon him up to this moment, she had already given him a treasure beyond price. He reached for one of her hands, "Your love will be enough."

She had sent him a note, a note that contained a single word. Now it was his chance to give her a similar reply, the term for a slow pace. He gestured towards the keys of the piano, "_Andante_?"

She smiled. "Yes, _Andante,_" she agreed.

Like iron purified by fire, he had finally become what he desired the most. He had become someone worthy of being loved. The full reality of her acceptance came on a rising tide of emotion. He lifted her hand, turning it to place a kiss on the inside of her wrist, "_Ma__charmante'_."

Emily felt the distance between them was closing somehow. His eyes were beautiful, as he looked back at her. The mask seemed to be something like another skin, no longer just an unyielding object.

He placed her hand on his shoulder. He reached to run his fingers up the column of her throat, he tilted her chin upwards. Her eyes closed slowly, and he felt the pull of her lips. Leaning down, he brushed his against hers with exquisite slowness, as light as the touch of a butterfly. He kissed her again and Emily's lips parted, he took possession of her mouth.

She felt his hands circle around her waist, the hunger growing in the lips moving on hers. And then there was a knock at the door.

* * *

(_Ma__charmante'—my charming one)_

A/N Thank you so much to my reviewers and all of you who have stuck with Erik and Emily through their first adventure. Their story continues…….Look for the next installment, _The Shell Game, _coming in September.


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